Monochrome
by Rosemary Baggins
Summary: Italy is struggling with the aftermath of the wars and his own feelings as he tries to keep both Germany and Prussia alive. Fifth and last part of the Monochrome series.
1. Chapter 1

Fifth and last part of the Monochrome series.

 **Warning:** language, **M rated**

 **Disclaimer:** Don't own Hetalia.

 **Pairing:** Prussia x Germany x Italy

 **Note:** This story was written first in the Monochrome series, so the quality might lack a bit. But it's long and I'm lazy to rewrite it.

No beta has seen it.

Historical notes in the last chapter.

* * *

Monochrome

 **Chapter 1**

 _ **Nurnberg, 1945**_

The world was not a bright place. All the colours were gone leaving everything stained in the dull shades of black and white. Italy could barely remember the green of the grass or the blue of the sky anymore, everything being overshadowed by this horrible greyness heavily weighing on his soul.

No, it wasn't true. It wasn't only him, it was everyone. All the people and nations gathered in the tightly packed courtroom had the same tired and dull expression. The war was over, but the aftermath of it was just as terrible and difficult.

He lived through a lot. Being alive for as long as he was, he has seen almost everything. All the ugliness humans possessed and all the beautiful and wonderful things they could create and accomplish. He travelled the world, conquered new lands, fought in many wars. Swords, bows and arrows, guns, he grabbed all of them if he had to, if it was for his children, even though a quill and a paintbrush suited him much more. But he did it anyway because it was his duty to make sure that his people flourished. But the route humans took for the last fifty or so years scared him more than anything he could remember.

Technology was an amazing thing, but humans were too greedy and too hasty, and nations too inexperienced yet to understand all the wonders and possibilities it granted. The world developed too fast during the last century and it led to these horrible consequences. Admittedly, though, Italy couldn't remember a time in his life when there was no war, no conflict at all. It was human nature after all, and nations obeyed by either taking up arms or by expanding their diplomatic web or putting their knowledge into making their land, their world a better or a safer place for future generations. But this modern technology, these new weapons, the mass destruction they could cause was something none of them have seen before, none of them were ready for. And the inequality between nations created by these new technologies gave birth to new, drastic ideologies. And it was scary.

Time seemed to pass in slow motion in the courtroom as the jury passed its judgment.

Guilty.

Guilty.

 _Guilty…_

Italy barely paid attention. He felt sick to his stomach and his chest clenched painfully with each sentence.

When will this finally stop? When will this bloodshed and hatred end?

The world lost its contours morphing into a grey blur and the nation wasn't sure if it was his vision giving up or his consciousness slipping. He had to force himself to focus, to keep his eyes open, and to keep awake. Not to succumb to the blissful unconsciousness. He had no right to do that, he had to witness it, just like all the other nations had to. But yet again, he was failing miserably not being able to keep the world in its shape; not being able to protect his friends.

Not being able to keep his promises.

He didn't know how much time has passed, he only woke up from his trans-like state when Romano shook his shoulder and led him to the middle of the almost empty courtroom. He obeyed, automatically following behind his brother dully noticing that only the nations have stayed behind.

It was their turn now.

Italy dreaded this hearing more than anything else in his life so far. His stomach churned unpleasantly, threatening to return that little he had to eat before.

He wanted to run.

It seemed that was the only thing he was doing lately, running from his problems and running from the world. He couldn't help it. Besides, the whole hearing was just a formality, the Allies have long decided about their fates. They just had to keep up the appearances.

Apathetic and dull faces greeted him, void of any emotions. Everyone tried to be civil, tried to keep up a calm façade, pretending that everything was alright, but it wasn't and it was so apparent that Italy wanted to laugh.

This war had no winners.

They were all battered, France and Poland especially. England who usually took up the role of the leader was barely standing on his feet, thin and weak. And the ever boisterous America was unusually quiet, his sickly pale skin and limp hair suggesting that he wasn't feeling right either. Russia on the other hand loomed ominously over the Baltic trio and Hungary who stood just a bit closer to Austria than it was necessary.

The dark haired nation despite his high regard for etiquette put his hand around Hungary's waist holding her tenderly. No one seemed to care, after all they used to be married, used to form the Austro-Hungarian Empire and connections like that were difficult to break up. Their separation after the first big war was so sudden that Italy wasn't sure if his previous carers even comprehended it fully, especially that the Mediterranean nation knew more than well that the two of them had a rather intimate relationship in the first place.

Italy felt like crying. Now big sis Hungary will be sent to Russia's house. She will be separated from the man she loved and it was all his fault. Because he was weak and he couldn't keep his promises.

Throat constricting painfully, tears gathered in his eyes.

It was all his fault.

He wanted to apologise, wanted to go there and smile and say that everything was going to be alright. But he was scared of their reaction, afraid that they might hate him for what happened. He didn't know what to do and this trepidation left him even more in tears. His vision started blurring again and he wasn't sure if he could stand on his own as the world swayed in front of his eyes.

But suddenly a warm body was there, holding him up by his arm and lending a shoulder to lean on.

Italy needed a moment to collect himself as he let his weight fall onto to the warm body next to him.

"Are you okay?" Prussia's voice was quiet and tired but surprisingly calm. His hands securely circled the older nation keeping him in place and Italy felt his heart clench at the familiar feeling of having the white haired man so close to him.

He nodded, lifting his head heavily and pulling away from the bigger body but Prussia's arms held him close. The brunette looked up surprised. Although he was scared, afraid of the pain and hatred and hurt in those red eyes, to his astonishment there was none. Prussia was looking at him, his genuinely worried and concerned expression breaking Italy's self-restraint as he buried his face in the taller man's chest drenching his shirt with tears.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered as silent sobs shook his body. "I'm so sorry, Prussia…"

"Gilbert," the man corrected him, and Italy gulped back a shocked sob, looking up at the man through tears to see a ghost of a smile on thin, white lips. "I like the name you gave me."

Italy's chest squeezed agonizingly.

"But I betrayed you," he said, his voice barely audible and breaking at times. "I betrayed you and Germany. I caused pain for all of you…"

His look jumped to Austria and Hungary for a moment but he shut his eyes feeling shame and guilt. Prussia followed his gaze, then sighed heavily.

"You did what you had to. You finished a hopeless war and no one is blaming you for that. They know it as well." The man's voice was quiet and resigned, and his calmness, despite shocking the smaller nation, was more soothing than anything else since he left Germany's side. "Besides, you talk about it as if it was only your decision, but in reality it was what your people, boss and your brother wanted as well. So don't blame yourself." Prussia put his hand on Italy's head. "I don't blame you. What you did was probably the only logical decision in that situation."

It hurt.

He thought hearing these words would ease his pain, alleviate his guilt but instead it just hurt more. He wanted it so much and he hated it because he didn't deserve forgiveness. He didn't deserve Prussia's… No, Gilbert's kindness or his tender words, yet the man was right there, holding him almost lovingly, keeping him standing straight, although Italy's legs have given up a long time ago.

And the older nation wanted to say so many things, wanted to cry loud and open like a child but instead he just pressed his face into Prussia's chest and weakly mumbled his name:

"Gilbert…"

The arms around him squeezed a bit tighter.

"There you go."

A soft cough alerted both of them and Italy snapped his head towards the noise. Romano was standing just a couple of steps away looking at them awkwardly. For a moment the Mediterranean nation thought that his brother would snap, shouting and reprimanding him for mixing with the Potato Bastards as he liked to call the Germanic brothers, but instead he just nodded his head towards Prussia in a silent greeting.

"We are starting soon," he pointed towards the middle of the room where the rest of them were gathering.

Italy disentangled himself from the taller man's arms to shakily stand on his own. He looked around the room noticing all the anxious, tired and listless expressions nations wore, but something wasn't right.

Someone was missing.

He turned to Prussia, surprise and worry lacing his voice:

"Where is Germany?"

For a moment there was no reaction but then the man's pupils dilated in shock as he awkwardly looked from him to Romano. Italy followed his gaze only to be met with his brother's slightly reddening cheeks. There was something unsettling about it.

"You didn't tell him?" Gilbert broke the silence suddenly. The taller man's accusatory voice made Italy flinch. Didn't tell him what?

"There was nothing to tell he didn't know already," Defensively, Romano crossed his arms in front of his chest, refusing to look at them.

"Nothing to tell!?" the white haired nation snapped in disbelief.

His brother's reluctance to give a clear answer and Gilbert's angry expression left Italy terrified and worried for Germany. It was scary. Why wasn't he here? Just what was going on!? Italy just had to know, so he grabbed Prussia's arm forcing the man to look at him instead of staring down Romano lividly.

"What's happening? What are you not telling me?"

The younger at first refused to look at him as well, closing his eyes instead and sighing heavily. But when he finally turned his tired gaze towards the smaller man his expression was everything but hopeful. It wasn't boding well, and slimy fear slithered over Italy's stomach threateningly.

"I-" The white haired nation couldn't finish.

A strong British accent interrupted them as England walked up to their little group with a questioning look on his face and with America following close behind.

"Excuse me, gentlemen. What seems to be the matter here?"

Italy impatiently turned towards him, latching himself to the blonde man's arm this time. He knew it was inappropriate, especially given the circumstances but he was starting to get desperate.

"Where is Germany?"

The shock on England's features was apparent as he looked incredulously from one person to another, and Italy felt irritation bubble up in his chest once more.

Why was no one saying anything!? Why were they hiding things from him!?

His breath hitched for a moment. What if it was the worst case scenario? What if Germany wasn't anymore? No, no, that's impossible! The Mediterranean nation shook his head to banish the thought. Germany was strong and although his country was broken and destroyed it still remained. It still existed. Germany had to be alive! Then why was no one telling him anything!?

Scary, almost hysterical thoughts twirled in his mind with unpleasant slowness. But his anxious internal rant was cut short, when from behind the gentlemanly nation America stepped forward impatiently with a rather annoyed and disgusted look on his face.

"What do you want from that murderer?"

Everyone in hearing distance went quiet suddenly, and Italy also gasped in surprise.

These were harsh words. Unbecoming of a nation of America's status. It was almost impossible to believe he heard that correctly. But the younger blonde stood confidently, almost cockily with no regret on his features whatsoever.

How dared he…!?

Anger took over Italy's whole being at these unjust words, the type which rarely, almost never possessed him before. But apparently it wasn't only him who got offended at this outrageous comment because Gilbert stepped forward, his form appearing just slightly more threatening than it should have been for a nation who lost the war.

"Murderer?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. "That's rich coming from a country who dropped two nuclear warheads on Japan. Tell me, just how many innocent lives have you destroyed?"

Silence.

America was shocked speechless for a moment at this audacity.

"How dare you!?" His posture and tone turning even more hostile, he took a step forward, too, and Italy almost yelped frightened.

Repressed frustration, anger, pain, helplessness and fear, - he could see all of these feelings from both of them. He understood it very well. He was going through the same but these heated words scared him, for Prussia was angering the most powerful nation in the world right now.

But luckily England was there to pacify the mood, or rather make the two competitive men step down in front of his authority. The blonde might not have been the British Empire anymore but he still possessed that authoritative demeanour which left people feeling small and insignificant and right now probably that was the only thing that could stop Prussia and America.

"That's quite enough you two!" his voice boomed in the silence of the courtroom. "We all committed heinous crimes during our existence, there is no point arguing who is worst. We are all just bloody murderers here!"

Suffocating silence enveloped the room.

It was true. Undeniable. England's words carried a sort of finality that made the atmosphere even heavier.

But it worked because America turned away displeased, puffing out his cheeks like a little kid and crossed his arms in front of his chest in annoyance. Prussia also seemed to calm down as he stepped back a bit and refused to look at the blonde superpower.

England sighed and Italy sighed with him. At least one problem was solved for now, but it was far from being over yet.

He still wanted to know.

No.

He _needed_ to know what happened to Germany.

Despite his better judgement, he pulled at the blonde man's hand demanding attention, as pleading eyes fixated on the nation mercilessly. England cleared his throat uncomfortably. He gently tried to pry the smaller nation's hands away but Italy's hold was surprisingly strong.

"Germany is rather inconvenienced right now," he said unable to meet the smaller man's gaze, giving up on freeing himself.

Italy squeezed his arm again.

"Please England, I need to know."

The blonde's dull and tired eyes flashed with empathy for a moment, and he put his hand on top of the other's head to pat him apologetically.

"I'm really sorry but I don't think it's me you should hear this from."

His voice was drained but sincere, and Italy instantly understood that he won't get out any more information from him. Not because England didn't want him to know, simply because it wasn't his responsibility, or rather he didn't had the right to explain what was going on.

He let go of the man's hand feeling numb and helpless, and the blonde slipped away from him cautiously stepping back to America's side.

Tears gathered in Italy's eyes as he looked from Romano to Prussia and back to Romano again. There was no answer, his brother refused to look his way, but Prussia sighed heavily as he rubbed his neck awkwardly.

"Germany is…" he started, "Germany is not himself right now," Prussia said finally, his features morphing into a painful frown. And from the way Gilbert's voice dropped to almost a whisper Italy knew almost immediately that the situation was bad. Really bad.

The man's eyes reflected pain and worry. The white haired nation seemed to be scared. And it scared Italy, too, because the Prussia he knew was always strong, with a bubbly personality, always ready with a plan and even if things didn't go his way, he was able to shrug it off. Italy envied this part of him because despite often coming across as a brash, unperceptive douchebag Gilbert was his pillar of strength, keeping him together when he wanted to fall apart.

And for a moment instead of the strong and confident man Prussia became, Italy saw the little child he once saved. Weakened, tired and defeated, - just like a lot of them were after this war - and he felt guilt overcome him for always relying on others, relying on the white haired man when he was probably feeling just as fragile as Italy felt.

He wanted to go there and hug him. To reassure him that he was there for him, to say everything was going to be okay, but honestly he wasn't sure if anything ever would be okay after this. But right now he also had to know what was happening to Germany. He had his hunch and if it was true the situation was more than just simply bad. Although, the possibility of being wrong existed, - he had to be certain.

"Is it the same what happened before?" He took a step closer to Gilbert.

The man's eyes flashed with anger and shame for a moment at the ugly memories. It was understandable. That day still haunted the smaller nation in his nightmares, too, and he was sure Prussia witnessed much more of those episodes than he did. He always knew Gilbert was protecting him, keeping him far away from pain and harm as much as it was possible. The pledge he once made as the Teutonic Knight and then centuries later what he reconfirmed as Prussia still lived strong within him, and Italy couldn't have been more grateful and honoured for that.

But it was his turn now. After all the failures, all the promises he broke it was his turn to protect Gilbert, and to protect Germany!

And when Prussia slightly nodded confirming his worries the only sane thought that remained in his head was that he had to save the both of them. His heart skipped a beat, and his body went numb and cold, abandoning all rationality and leaving him unnaturally calm. It didn't matter how, didn't matter how impossible it was, he had to save both Germany and Prussia.

"Where is he now?"

His voice was quiet and composed and Italy was surprised himself that he didn't burst out in tears. He didn't even feel like crying anymore, his only priority right now was finding the blonde man.

But Gilbert just shook his head.

"There is no point, you can't reason with him. He is completely consumed by his people's loss and his previous boss' insanity."

Italy didn't care. He just wanted to see Germany and to confirm the situation with his own eyes.

"Where is he?" he repeated the question, but the white haired man seemed reluctant to answer.

He grabbed Prussia's hand into his own trembling ones, weaving their fingers together and squeezed lightly encouraging, reassuring, _urging_ the taller to answer his question.

He would save Germany for him. No matter what!

The man closed his eyes uncomfortably, but from the way his lips quivered it was obvious that he was struggling with himself, slowly yielding under Italy's piercing gaze.

"He wouldn't want you to see him like that," Prussia said finally.

Italy just clutched his hands stronger.

"Please…"

The answer was so close, Prussia could never resist him! It was an underhanded tactic but these were extreme times.

But unfortunately America had to butt in again at the worst possible of times, "Why would you even want to see him, he is totally fucked up in the head!"

Both former Axis nations turned their heads towards the insulting words. Gilbert's eyes flashed with seething anger, and Italy let a quiet curse escape his lips in his melodic native language.

Even England looked offended as he snapped at the young superpower, "America! Why do you have to be so rude? I'm sorry," he turned towards Italy this time. "Germany is kept in the prison ward, but you need special permission to go there and- Hey! No, stop!"

Italy didn't listen to him, Prussia's cold hand fell from his, and his legs carried him automatically as he broke out in a mad dash towards the blonde's location.

"Italy, wait!"

He heard people shout after him, Romano call him an idiot and Prussia grab after him and plead not to go. He heard footsteps as the nations started chasing him but he ignored everything, forcing his body, begging to run faster.

He raced through corridors and staircases trying to avoid bumping into random people and soldiers, but to his disappointment the whole building seemed to be swarmed with them. He heard guns click ominously behind his back as he sprinted away between guards but someone shouted a ' _don't shoot'_ command. He allowed himself a relieved little sigh but never stopped running.

His side was hurting, he could barely breathe as he reached the entrance of the prison ward. The soldiers who were stationed in front of the main door at first looked at him with confusion but soon they grabbed after their weapons to stop any intruders.

However, that momentary lapse in their reaction was enough for Italy to act, as he grasped after the wrist of the man standing the nearest to him, twisting the gun out of his hand and holding the poor fellow at gunpoint as his hostage.

He didn't know where his strength came from, it had to be the adrenalin coursing through his body, making his heart beat hundred times faster than it should. And he didn't know where this bravery or rather stupidity came from either. He didn't understand his own actions, the only thing he knew was that he had to reach Germany.

"Give me the keys!" he shouted.

The gun in his hand trembled pressed up to the soldier's temple.

No one moved. The men were either too shocked or not taking him seriously enough, and Italy's bet was on the latter.

Damn it!

He couldn't stop now, he was so close to his goal! He had to get the keys and pass through the door but it was more difficult than he thought.

No, that's the problem, he didn't think this through at all, he acted instinctively and now his stupid decisions were catching up to him. That calm confidence he felt before was gone now, and the gun in his hand felt heavy and dirty.

He wanted to cry. His legs shook uncontrollably and he was ready to bolt at any time. But he forced himself to stay calm and to stay in place.

Why did he have to be such a coward? Why was the only thing he was good at running away? Why did he even think that a weak being like him could ever pull this off? He was useless! There was no way he could manage on his own!

He wanted to call for help. He needed someone next to him, someone stronger and his mind automatically supplied him with a name.

Germany.

His lips parted to call out to the man only to realise that it would be completely futile.

He remained silent.

Germany wouldn't come to save him. It was Germany who needed to be saved right now, and not him.

Italy was angry and disgusted with his own weakness. This had to stop. He promised himself he would save Germany, he promised himself he would make Prussia happy again. And he had to do it on his own! Both of them gave him so much it was time to repay their kindness.

This new determination gave him enough strength to collect himself and stop his hand from shaking. He had to move forward, there was no going back now.

He pointed the gun towards the ceiling and pulled the trigger in an attempt to scare the people around and make them take him seriously, but he ended up scaring himself as well as the bullet whizzed through the air with a loud boom. He recoiled from the noise, knees buckling underneath him but he was able to steady himself and press the gun back to the hostage's head threateningly.

"The keys! I'm not gonna say it again!"

For a moment no one moved, and the nation was afraid that his scare tactic didn't work but then someone produced a set of keys, which jingled in the air in one of the soldiers' extended hands.

Italy sighed just a tiny bit more relieved now. Finally things were going his way. It was far from being over yet but at least he was a step closer to his goal.

He made his hostage take the keys and open the door. They shuffled around awkwardly for a moment, Italy trying to balance the gun, the keys and the man in his grasp until he reached securely behind the door. Then he shoved the poor fellow out, throwing the gun away, and closing the door with a loud bang. He locked the door from the inside, although the guards probably had a spare key somewhere as well. He didn't care, he only needed a little bit of time until he could locate Germany's cell and then…

Well, he didn't know yet, but he would come up with something for sure.

He raced through the narrow corridor peeking into each cell, searching for a mop of golden-blonde hair. The rigid bars morphed into a solid greyness in front of his eyes as he whizzed between them moving forward.

Germany was nowhere to be seen.

Tears gathered in honey eyes as desperation took over again.

 _Why wasn't he here!? Where was he!?_

At the end of the path he reached a dark adjacent corridor leading down to the solitary confinement cells. He ran down that corridor as well, peeking into each room through the small slots on the sturdy metal doors.

And finally, there he was.

In one of the dark cells, sitting in a far corner with his head hanging low, there was a mop of unruly dirty-blonde hair.

Italy's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't see his face but he still knew it was Germany.

He fumbled with the lock, trying to find the correct key but his hands were shaking too much, and the keys slipped out again and again from between his sweaty fingers.

 _Damn it!_

He had to calm down but he couldn't stop his erratic heartbeat. Finally, after a couple of minutes of awkward and nervous searching he found the correct one and the lock opened with a loud click.

He stumbled into the room and shut the door, turning the lock again, preventing anyone from interfering. In retrospect that was probably one of the stupidest ideas he ever had, but at that moment he couldn't care less, he didn't even have the capacity to think through his actions properly.

Finally, he was here. He was in front of Germany, he found the person he was looking for and Italy allowed himself a relieved sigh as he leaned against the cool door to rest his overheated body. For a moment only his ragged breathing was disrupting the silence, escaping his lips in small white puffs.

It was chilly down here and Italy looked around in disgust noticing just how dirty, empty and cold this room was. It was unfair, no one should be kept in these conditions and he felt his blood boil in anger towards the other nations that they allowed this to happen.

No. He was too naïve.

After what Germany's people have done, it was rather fitting. The irony of the situation was like a bitter and morbid joke.

"You have some nerve to show your face here."

Italy snapped his head in Germany's direction. The voice was familiar, yet so different that he wasn't sure for a moment if it was really the man talking or if he was just hearing things.

It wasn't Germany's silky and warm baritone ordering him to train properly, or reprimanding for leaving a mess, or occasionally praising, usually for his cooking skills, with just a slightly higher pitch in his voice, all cute and embarrassed as he couldn't hide his delight from showing on his features.

Italy loved those moments, and always put an extra effort into his cooking to please the man and create something he would enjoy eating. Unfortunately, the mess he left in the kitchen afterwards put a dumper on the whole project, but he was working on that as well.

But the voice that greeted him now was nothing like that. It was harsh and strict, low and unforgiving and as Germany raised his head and Italy had a chance to see his icy, accusing eyes, cold sweat broke out on his body, leaving him shivering in the dark room.

His eyes were grey, almost black like the charred land of his people covered in colourless ash. There was no hint of that sapphire-blue sparkle that reminded him of a warm summer's night sky. Those precious gems that smiled at him fondly were gone and instead, Italy saw pasty corpses decaying on the battleground and smoke rising above the dead bodies in the deafening silence of a grey world.

This man was not the Germany he knew.

He automatically stepped back, but as he was already standing next to door anyway, the only thing he could do was to press his back to the cold metallic surface even more. Yet, even that small movement seemed to be enough for the blonde man to snap in anger as he jumped up suddenly from the corner, chains rattling with his every move as he tried to reach after Italy's neck with a mad sneer on his face.

He was stopped by the shackles just a step away from the smaller nation, who jumped and screamed in fear.

The pull of the chain seemed to bring back the blonde from his momentary madness, or at least Italy really hoped so, as he watched Germany take a step back, letting his restraints fall back heavily to the ground.

"What does a traitor like you want here?"

Italy cringed, his boyish features contorting into a painful frown.

It hurt more than he imagined. Germany's every world was a stab into his heart, but he had to steel himself. He came here for a reason and no matter how intimidating, how scary the man in front of him looked like, he had to persevere. He owed it to Prussia, he owed it to Germany and to himself.

"I came to save you," he said with a weak and small voice barely able to keep his gaze on the blonde's stone-cold eyes.

Germany looked at him for a moment with a quizzical look, then laughed out hysterically at his words, his head tilting back in an almost unnatural angle, scaring the smaller man even more.

"Save me!?" he exclaimed incredulously, lips pulling into a malicious grin. "And who's gonna save you?"

The shackles rattled again as Germany's hands stopped a few feet away from his neck. The older nation forced himself to remain calm and stay in one place but he recoiled from the threatening move and loud noise anyway. Pressing his back to the cold surface behind him even more, he gulped in fear.

He needed to calm down or he was not going to succeed. It wouldn't be easy, he was prepared for that. Well, maybe not really prepared but still, he couldn't give up now. He absolutely had to bring Germany back to his senses! No matter what!

"I don't need to be saved," Italy said with more confidence in his voice than he actually had. He could barely stand, his knees buckled underneath him but his voice was smooth and even, surprising himself as well.

"Oh, really? A weak coward like you who can only rely on others and run away doesn't need saving? Don't make me laugh!" Germany snorted, disgust and contempt disfiguring his usually handsome features, and malice dripping from his words like venomous poison. "Get out of my sight or I'll kill you!"

Italy winced at every word the blonde man spoke. Seeing the person he loved since as long as he could remember being reduced to this state wasn't easy, but what hurt the most was that Germany's every word was true. He _was_ just a weak coward, he _did_ rely on others and ultimately, he _was_ a traitor. And this hurt more than anything the other could have said, because despite not being himself right now, Germany most probably did harbour these kind of unpleasant feelings towards him. How could he not after what Italy did to him?

And for a moment all what Italy wanted was, really, just to run away, just like Germany has told him to do. But he remained, rooted into his place by fear, determination and sheer stubbornness. He would not run this time. Not today!

Even if it kills him, he will see this through.

His resolve had to show on his face as well because Germany growled, displeasure and annoyance marring his features as he pulled at his restraints forcefully. The chains rattled and creaked under the brute force, the worn metal slowly giving up the fight.

And suddenly the chains snapped with an agonizing screech as broken pieces of metal ricocheted through the small cell.

Italy screamed and automatically raised his arms to shield his face from the sharp pieces flying through the air but the movement was cut short, when a strong hand gripped his throat and pinned him to the sturdy door behind. His head hit the metal so hard that for a moment the world blurred into an amorphous greyness from the searing pain.

It was difficult to breathe, the hand was squeezing mercilessly, blocking the air from entering his lungs. He tried to pry the fingers away weaving his own around Germany's wrist but it was an entirely futile attempt on his part. There was no way he could ever win against the man when it came to pure physical strength.

He flailed around when the blonde lifted him to the air, still clutching at his throat, as the icy, feral eyes made his blood freeze. Even through his hazy vision he could see the clear intent to kill, and it was more petrifying than anything else in his long life before.

"Germany… would never hurt me," Italy muttered with a weak and failing voice, squeezing out the last remaining breath from his lungs.

In all honesty, he wasn't sure anymore if Germany wouldn't hurt him. _His_ Germany definitely wouldn't do such a thing. _His_ Germany was indeed strong and powerful but he was a gentle person, valuing his friends and looking after them as much as he could. But this man in front of him, this stranger who wore _his_ Germany's face was nothing like the person Italy has come to love time and time again.

This man was cold and bloodthirsty, driven by hatred and revenge, and maddened by his people's pain and loss and humiliation. And Italy knew that it was his fault, too. No matter what Prussia said, no matter what the world thought of him, no matter that ultimately he ended a losing, hopeless war, he was just a traitor and deserved every bit of Germany's hatred.

But that's exactly why he had to save the man now! He had to stop him from making any more mistakes. Because, even though Italy considered himself an awful friend and a traitor, he did not make a mistake when he decided to stop the blonde nation. He pushed Germany into the open arms of darkness and despair with his decision, but he only did that in order to stop the man and save him. And now that the war was over it was his duty to finish what he started and bring back the old Germany he wanted to protect so desperately. And he couldn't allow himself to fail now.

As the world started to fade in front of his eyes the younger brought his limp body closer to fix him with a cruel and unforgiving stare.

"Try me!" His voice was hard and cold, lips pulling into a wicked smile again.

He flung Italy into the opposite stone wall with such force that the older nation could hear his ribs crack. He connected with the ground in a loud thud, and coughed up blood as one of his hands came up to his aching throat to somehow ease the pain.

He looked up at the man standing above him through tears and blood which trickled from his forehead. Every intake of breath burnt his lungs and his head was spinning from pain, but he forced himself up to a standing position. He had to lean on the wall as his shaking legs were barely holding him up but he didn't have the luxury to be weak now. Meanwhile, his eyes never left the blonde man who was watching him with a feral glint in those stone-cold orbs.

"Do you still think I won't kill you?"

Despite every inch of his body crying in pain and fear Italy smiled, shocking himself as well at this boldness, "You're not Germany."

He didn't have time to prepare for the kick which he received as an answer and sent him flying to yet another wall, braking his arm this time. The bone yielded under the pressure with a loud and sickening snap and Italy screamed in pain as he grabbed at the injured appendage, covering his fingers with blood and curling into foetal position on the ground.

It was going really bad. Granted, he didn't have a plan when he stupidly rushed to save Germany without thinking his actions through first, but if he didn't do something soon all of this would be in vain. He wasn't afraid of dying, despite what the blonde man said it wasn't that easy to kill a nation, but his body was giving up, and he could feel his consciousness slowly slipping from under his control.

He tried to take a couple a calming breaths to clear his mind but the other's presence dangerously looming above him sent his thoughts into a panicked frenzy.

What to do? He had to act, soon! But there was nothing he could think of. Dammit, why was it so difficult!

Italy winced as Germany grabbed his hair and pulled him into a standing position. Ha was forced against the cold surface of the cell as the man's hand clutched around his throat again, squeezing the breath out of him.

Tears gathered in honey-brown eyes and he swore silently.

Dammit! Dammit! _Dammit!_

Why was he such a useless weakling? Why couldn't he do anything on his own?

For a moment he wished someone would come and save him but the disgust he felt rise in his stomach at these thoughts was more stifling and painful than anything Germany dished out for him so far.

"You're pathetic!" the man spat out as if reading his mind. "You can't and you never could save anyone! You can't even save yourself…"

Italy looked at him through teary eyes, determination flashing with a gold light in his irises as some of the words struck him.

Germany was right that he couldn't save himself, but Italy did save someone in the past. Long-long centuries ago, a small unwanted child whose life was barely hanging on a thread and whose existence later became an important part of his own life. His pillar of strength. Actually, no. Not only _his_ pillar of strength. Gilbert was Germany's precious brother as well. The most important person in his life! Italy always knew that, and despite the slight ache in his chest he was content that the two most beloved people in his life were happy.

So it wasn't true that he has never saved someone because he did, and Prussia was the living proof of that. And if he did it once, he could do it again!

He _will_ do it again!

This newly found resolve gave him enough power to collect his hazy thoughts into some kind of order.

Now he finally knew what to do, and all he needed was just a little bit of blood, a vow and enough strength to execute his plan before he lost his consciousness.

A contract. A blood-pact. A blood-oath.

It had different names but the end result was the same. With the symbolic exchange of blood and an oath one could forge an unbreakable connection bounding the participating sides on a level much more sacred than a simple hand written contract or a promise.

Humans used it since ancient times, although after the rapid spread of Christianity and the church as an institution gaining power this custom became banned, being deemed too barbaric. But Italy remembered Hungary saying once that her existence as a nation started also with a pact like that, when the forefathers of the seven tribes she travelled with cut their arms and let their blood into a chalice and exchanged oaths, thus elevating her to the rank of official nations.

The contract between nations, however, was a bit different. Grandpa Rome has told him everything about it. Back in those times when every territory, every settlement and city-state, every tribe and clan had its own personification, the life of the beings like they were, was much more difficult. They appeared within a blink of an eye and disappeared the same way, either by being conquered and their people slaughtered, or by famine, or other types of disasters. So, in order to survive one had to make sacrifices and submit to a stronger power for resources and protection.

'In exchange for your territories, I guarantee your people's survival.' In exchange for your children's loyalty, I let you keep your name.' _'In exchange for your name, I promise you a new life.'_

He remembered that last one as clearly as if it happened only yesterday. After all, that was the oath he made to Prussia before he became the Teutonic Knights, when he was nothing but a new-born, tiny nation. Back then, Prussia was still a small and weak being so even the one sided vow had enough power to change his fate. Unfortunately, though, Germany was different but Italy still had to try. It didn't matter if his promise had only a slight effect, even the smallest of changes could tip the scales in his favour.

He gathered all of his remaining strength into a last desperate move. His chest hurt, one of his arms was broken and he could barely breathe but he could still kick the man in the shin.

Germany winced as Italy's boot connected with the most sensitive part of his leg and his hold loosened just a fraction. Still, it was enough for the older nation to push himself away from the wall and thrust his intact hand forward, trying to push his blood covered fingers past Germany's lips.

Time seemed to move in slow motion.

This was his chance!

His heart skipped a beat. His hand was shaking, and it seemed he forgot how to speak. He was anxious and afraid. If he screwed this up he won't have any other chances. He had to make this vow worthwhile, but he just couldn't find the words! He knew he would offer his very last breath to Germany if he needed to, so maybe that was actually all what was needed.

"To erase the darkness within your soul, I'll offer you my life, for I'm… for I'm Italy… and-"

His voice hitched as the hand around his throat squeezed again and he coughed up some more blood. He couldn't finish what he wanted to say but maybe he didn't have to. After all, he had no value to his name other than he was Grandpa Rome's descendant. He was weak and cowardly and pathetic just as Germany has told him, but he was ready to give his whole life, his whole pitiful existence to the man if it meant he could be saved.

Breathing was becoming more and more difficult as the coppery taste of blood in his mouth intensified and the world swayed before his eyes. He was losing his consciousness and he couldn't fight against it anymore. The urge to draw air into his lungs wiped his mind clear of any other thought as his hand fell down limply, leaving Germany's lips painted in a livid red colour.

The man recoiled, and his mouth opened to say something but Italy couldn't hear that anymore.

The world turned black before his eyes.

 _To be continued_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Before any coherent thought could be formed in is mind, the first thing that Italy registered was pain. Dull and heavy pain was weighing down his chest and each intake of breath burned his throat. His body throbbed, covering his mind with a hazy fog as his eyes very slowly adjusted to the semi-darkness of the room.

Waking up was like finally breaking the surface of a very cold, deep and dark water but ending up in an equally dark and cold place. Italy could only describe it as awful, and he regretted ever opening his eyes.

He needed some time for his thoughts to clear enough to realize that he was heavily injured and lying in some kind of sickbay, but he didn't recognize the place. The strong smell of antiseptic irritated his nose and made his stomach churn uncomfortably but he forced the feeling away, being more preoccupied with finding out what has happened.

After some cautious experimentation of flexing his muscles he was able to conclude the extent of his injuries, too. One of his arms was broken and he had a few fractured ribs. He had to hit his head pretty hard as well because the dizziness didn't seem to subside either. A mild concussion perhaps, he wasn't entirely sure, and he really wondered just how did he end up in this state? His memories were blurred and dark, and the only things he could remember were anxiousness and worry.

 _What happened?_

Why couldn't he remember anything?

He tried to sit up but something heavy was lying atop of his duvet clutching at his intact hand. Italy turned his head towards the obstruction but the movement caused his stomach stir unpleasantly and he had to shut his eyes to keep the world from spinning.

 _Dammit!_

What the hell happened to him?

The room filled with his heavy breathing as he needed some time for his stomach to settle. His chest and throat hurt with every breath-take, but after a while he felt calm enough to open his eyes again and look around. And as he looked down to inspect what was blocking his movements a mop of silvery-white hair greeted him, and Italy recoiled in shock recognizing the figure curled up at the side of the bed.

Head resting on the sheets, and holding his hand securely between long and thin fingers was Prussia.

It was _Prussia_.

And suddenly all the memories whizzed through Italy's head in flashes, leaving him panting in pain. He pulled his hand free to press it to his temple in a vain attempt to ease the horrible pounding within his skull but it only made things worse as the sudden movement aggravated his nausea.

He wanted to curl up on his side as waves of cold and hot flushes raked his body, leaving him covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but his fidgeting had to alert the sleeping man, too, who snapped his head up confused and disorientated for a moment before his ruby eyes fixated on the smaller nation.

"Huh… Feli-? Feliciano!" The man almost shrieked as he threw himself on the Mediterranean nation pulling him up, and hugging the smaller body to his in relief and joy.

Italy winced, his body complaining against the tight squeeze and Gilbert's arms instantly loosened around him, but were reluctant to let go. "Just what the _fuck_ were you thinking!?" he shouted as he shook the smaller man lightly, anger flashing in his ruby orbs. "I told you not to go! Now look at yourself!" His expression was pained and worried, and as Italy examined his features he could see dark circles around his puffy eyes, a clear indication of tears, which left the brunette in confusion.

Prussia never cried, or at least he has never seen him cry. The concept itself was so absurd that he thought he had to imagine it. There was no way. Why would he even…? Unless something bad happened. Unless something happened to Germany!

And Italy really wanted to ask, wanted to know what happened exactly but suddenly, he felt lightheaded and if not for Gilbert's strong hands holding him in place and offering a shoulder to lean on, he would have fallen back onto the pillows ungracefully like a sack of potatoes.

"Are you okay?" came the concerned question as expert hands skimmed across his body checking his forehead, the bandages and his pulse.

It tickled slightly and Italy felt relieved that it was Prussia who was taking care of him and not some random doctor. Quite honestly, he strongly disliked human doctors as they were never able to comprehend how a nation's body worked anyway, and their love for experimentation scared him a lot. But Gilbert was different being a nation himself and all.

Despite his pounding headache Italy forced his lips to move and form his most important question.

"How is Germany?" His tongue felt heavy and dry in his mouth and it was difficult to speak but he was too concerned, wanting to know what happened to the blonde man.

Prussia ignored him, repeating his previous question instead and if not for the fact that Italy's stomach threatened to return its contents any moment now, he would have been really worried. It felt like the worst hangover ever after a serious bar fight. Not that he ever had the pleasure to experience it. Not the fight part at least.

But as it was, the only thing he could do was to relax into the man's hold, giving up on his worries about Germany for now. He had difficulties with collecting his thoughts, and concentrated instead on breathing deeply willing the wooziness away.

 _Everything had to be okay. Prussia wouldn't be here otherwise._

"…'m fine… just dizzy…," he managed to mumble as a weak reply, while Prussia let him rest and lean into his loose embrace.

Italy inhaled deeply, Gilbert's unique and familiar scent of steel and fresh winter morning promised safety and security. It was a luxury he was missing for the last couple of years. But finally he could ease his constantly swirling thoughts without crying himself to a dreamless sleep, and he had only Prussia to thank for that. Even if it was only for a minute, he felt like everything would be okay again.

He let a couple of moments pass in this blissful limbo while he collected himself and when he felt strong enough to open his eyes, he sat up to inspect the man once more.

"You look beaten up," he said sliding his hand onto Gilbert's cheek to make the white haired man look at him, too.

Prussia's lips quivered for a moment and the smaller nation wondered if he was really going to cry but the tears never came. Instead, the man's head landed on his shoulder and he sighed heavily, exasperation and tiredness clearly apparent in his voice as he spoke into Italy's shirt.

"Are you an idiot? Look at yourself."

His back trembled slightly. If it was relief, fatigue or remnants of stress Italy couldn't tell, but Gilbert's warm breath seeping through his clothes and caressing his skin was rather calming. Prussia was alive and breathing, and he was alive as well, and given the man's unusually composed and even breathing, Germany had to be okay, too.

But the question still remained to be answered. He had to make sure that the blonde was back. Ideally he wanted to see Germany in person as soon as possible.

"Did it work? Is Germany okay?"

Prussia just nodded into his shoulder and Italy's heartbeat picked up excitedly.

"Yeah… You saved him."

The words left him thrilled and motivated. He felt as if a huge weight has fallen off of his chest.

"I'm glad," he said as he patted the white haired man's shoulder barely able to contain himself.

"No, it's me who is really glad. You were _awesome_. Thank you."

Italy let his lips curl into a smile. Prussia being all emotional and even complementing him like that was a rare sight. It was honouring that the man trusted him so much that he was able to relax by his side almost completely. He looked so much younger and much more vulnerable like this, and he reminded Italy of the young boy he met as the Holy See all those centuries ago.

And just like earlier that day the urge to protect him, to keep both Prussia and Germany safe became overwhelming. And for once he actually felt strong enough, and capable of doing it. For once he could keep his promises and be useful. He was eternally grateful for that. Without them he wouldn't have been able to do it.

His fingers waved themselves into white locks and he pressed his cheek to Prussia's head and inhaled deeply.

"Let's go and see him then," he said after a moment as he pushed gently at Gilbert's chest to make him move, and the man obeyed too, lifting his head, ruby eyes searching Italy's honey-coloured ones. But despite Italy's expectations he didn't move from his spot on the bed.

"I'm sorry, I don't think it's possible right now."

 _What?_

The room seemed to crumble atop of him suddenly, stomach constricting with fear. The world started losing its colours again and his heart rate picked up anxiously as horrifying images flashed through his mind.

Was there something else? Was there something he still didn't know?

He started panicking, his breathing becoming ragged and his voice trembled when he spoke.

"Why…? What's going-?"

"There's nothing wrong with Germany," came the quick and reassuring answer when Prussia realised that his words were misleading, because he grabbed at Italy's hand to calm him down. "He is fine," he repeated again, "He's just being interrogated and no one is allowed to interrupt. Besides, we can't leave the sickbay either."

Italy felt relief wash over him but his head snapped up at the last comment.

"Why can't we?"

Prussia snorted.

"After the stunt you pulled, they are afraid that you will do some crazy shit again. How did you do it anyway?"

So Germany was okay then… That was the most important thing right now and Italy relaxed a bit. Now he only had to go and see him.

Disregarding the last question, he turned away from the man pushing himself up from the bed. The floor was cold and he felt shaky on his legs. His body ached all over making it difficult to move, and for a moment he thought he would fall back to the mattress as the ground seemed to slip out from under his feet, but Gilbert was there yet again to catch him.

The white haired nation's look was disapproving.

"Feli-"

"I'm going to see him."

His tone was determined. There was no way anyone could stop him from seeing Germany. Not after what he went through.

Prussia's critical gaze didn't faze him either and the man sighed as he let Italy stand on his own feet.

"I don't think it's a good idea either," he said finally. "Don't get me wrong, it's not that I don't want you to see him, but I don't think Germany is ready for it just yet," he explained.

"Why not?"

"Think about it," he started. "He nearly killed you!"

"I'm a nation, I can't die that easily. He was far away from killing me."

Despite saying that he couldn't suppress a shiver running down his spine at the memories. Germany's cold, accusing eyes staring at him-…

No.

That wasn't Germany. He mustn't think like that. He will not allow himself to be afraid of Germany. He had to be strong!

"Don't be a fool! Even if you say that, the intent was there!" Gilbert pressed on. "What do you think, how is he feeling right now?"

 _He was probably mortified._

Italy knew that, but that's exactly why he had to go and see the man. He had to make sure that Germany didn't blame himself, he had to apologize for everything he put the blonde through. And he was angry that Prussia didn't seem to understand that! He thought that if anyone would understand it, it would be the white haired nation!

"I still need to go and see him!" he said anyway, decision unwavering as he searched for his boots to haphazardly shove them on his feet.

"Feliciano!"

"Are you going to stop me then?!" Italy exclaimed. "Cuff me to the bed or something?!"

Prussia gasped and took a step back shocked at the words.

"I would never do that," he said, turning his gaze away uncomfortably. "Besides… I have no right to stop you."

He was unable to look at Italy. Whether it was shame or guilt for being incapable of protecting his own brother, the nation didn't know, but he understood it well. He felt so many times powerless and weak already that it sort of became his second nature. And for a nation like Prussia, for someone as strong and confident as he was, being unable to do something, to protect his beloved brother must have been indescribably painful.

So, really, Italy understood it. More than well, actually.

"I just need to see him," he repeated much calmer this time. "I don't want to hurt him anymore either. That's why I have to go and tell him that everything is fine, so please…"

He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince himself or Gilbert at this point. He knew the man was probably right about Germany not being ready to see him just yet, but he couldn't help it, wanting to make sure with his own two eyes that the blonde was okay.

He promised that he would be quick. That he wouldn't make a scene, he would just smile up at the man and tell him that he was glad to have him back. That everything was going to be good. And if Germany didn't want to see him afterwards he would accept it, he would let him take his time.

But for now it couldn't be helped. He absolutely needed to go!

"I-"

"It's fine," Gilbert interrupted unexpectedly. "I get it."

He looked extremely tired as he plopped down on the bed that Italy has just vacated and sighed heavily. He rubbed at his neck awkwardly, working on the sore spots in his neck and shoulder, which were surely caused by the stress the man had to go through during the last couple of months… or years even. Suddenly, he looked way older than he was and the Mediterranean nation felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

It wasn't easy for Prussia either.

No, especially for him, it was much more difficult, and Italy felt like an ungrateful brat for pushing his selfishness onto the white haired man.

"I'm so-"

"Just go," Prussia cut him off yet again.

Italy was reluctant to move but the encouraging smile he received from the other made him take a couple of steps towards the door.

 _Dammit!_

Even now, Prussia was supporting him! When will he be finally able to do something on his own?

But he was glad and extremely grateful that the man decided to let him do as he wished after all. Without Gilbert he would be nowhere right now.

"Aren't you coming as well?"

Italy stopped suddenly just a few steps away from the door when the thought materialized in his head. They should go together. He was sure Prussia wanted to see Germany just as much as he wanted.

He looked at the man expectantly, offering a reassuring smile of his own but Prussia didn't move from the bed. And the more Italy observed him, the better he could see that despite putting on a strong and brave face, Prussia was not all right at all.

His shoulders were hunched just a tiny bit more than usual, his hands, which were restlessly kneading the sheets underneath him were shaking slightly. He looked as if years of repressed frustration, worry and pain were dropped on him all of a sudden. And for a moment Italy was really scared that something horrible have happened, but the man shook his head signalling that everything was fine.

"I'm okay, just tired. You should go on ahead," he said as he nodded towards the door.

Italy hesitated for a moment.

Gilbert looked bothered. Something was not right and he wanted to go back and make sure that the man was okay. To grab his hand and stop it from shaking. To hug him and console, and make smile again in that cocky way that drove everyone nuts. Italy always found it funny how Prussia's ability to piss people off didn't faze the man at all. He seemed rather enjoying himself when he could be a nuisance to others. Yet right now, he was nothing like the Prussia Italy knew. He should have never looked like that.

And it was tearing him apart, because he really wanted to go back but he absolutely needed to go to Germany's side, too.

 _CazzoAccidentiDammit…!_

A string of silent curses left his lips in frustration. Really, this language was more suited to his hot-headed brother but this situation was challenging his strength and nerves, and he couldn't help the temperamental Italian surging forward.

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a couple of calming breaths.

Why was it so difficult? Why was he so helpless and pathetic all the time?

 _Come on, move!_

Gilbert needed him, he was in front of his eyes just a few steps away! He had to console him! He had to do something! So why then? Why was it so difficult to go back? Germany was okay. He had to be, Prussia said himself and he had no reason to not believe him. Then why?

 _Germany is more important._

The notion came to him without even comprehending it.

He loved Germany, after all. It should be obvious that he was more important. But the more Italy thought about it the more disgusted and doubtful he became. If Germany was more important why was it so difficult to leave Gilbert then?

Germany was the love of his life since childhood, but-

No, actually it wasn't Germany.

That was Holy Rome and despite Germany being Holy Rome at some point, they were not the same. And Italy accepted that. It didn't change the fact that he fell in love with this new person, too, but he only knew Germany since the first big war. Gilbert on the other hand was someone he knew for centuries. The nation might have gone through a lot of changes, might have taken different shapes and names, but he was still the same person. He was the same child Italy saved, retaining the memories of the past eight centuries he lived through since he was borne.

And Gilbert was important to him, too.

He _loved_ Gilbert, too.

This realisation left him somewhat breathless and for a moment it felt as if the world slipped out from under his feet. His chest hurt, as if invisible ropes were squeezing painfully.

He loved both of them and he wasn't sure how it happened or what it meant exactly.

It was scary. He didn't know what to do now.

He took a tentative step towards the bed. Prussia looked up at him confused for a moment, his silent, worried musing interrupted by the movement. But then his scarlet eyes flashed with something in this dull, monochrome world that Italy couldn't quite explain but it made him freeze, leaving him rooted to his spot.

 _Gilbert didn't want to speak about it._

It was clear as day. His eyes said everything. He didn't want to talk, didn't want Italy to go back. And the nation didn't understand why. He just wanted to make sure that Prussia was all right but that desperate, pleading gaze stopped him.

Italy was confused. He didn't understand Gilbert, he didn't understand himself either anymore. But if that's what the white haired man wanted, then be it.

He shut his eyes and turned around facing the door. His first step was wavering but the next one and the one after that were more and more confident and suddenly his legs picked up speed, and he was running, sprinting towards the door without looking back.

He was stopped only when he tore the door open and he saw England standing in front of the room.

His heart skipped a beat. Was he going to stop him? Would he have to fight? There was no way he could beat the man. England was tired and weakened just like all of them but the man was still stronger.

But England didn't say a thing. Instead, he peeked past Italy gazing inside the room, then he turned towards the smaller man and regarded him with a disapproving look. He sighed, shaking his head slightly and Italy held his breath anxiously waiting for what was going to happen.

But nothing happened. England stepped aside without saying anything and continued his way inside. It was shocking. But he didn't ponder on this too much. His feet carried him automatically, erupting in an awkward sprint. His body ached, breathing hurt his lungs but he pushed himself forward desperate to finally see Germany.

A part of him was still confused, angry and frustrated. His feelings towards Gilbert were like a tangled up web with him in the middle. He still wanted to go back, but Gilbert's look scared him. And he still wanted to see Germany, but he feared his reactions.

But before he could realise it, he was standing in front of the same courtroom he was in earlier that day. His mind went completely blank as he stepped inside alerting everyone's attention.

Nations looked at him in disbelief and surprise. Romano snapped angrily, America said something about him not being allowed to be there, Russia hummed mildly amused with a ghost of a smile on his lips but Italy barely paid attention to all of that.

His whole being concentrated solely on one person.

Germany.

He looked much weaker, much more apathetic than the psychotic man he met in the solitary confinement cell. His back was hunched, his skin pale and his wrists where the chains were cutting into his skin were covered in bandages. He had a few cuts, too, and his cheek was bruised and his lip busted as if someone has punched him in the face. But despite all of that, despite the dull colour in his eyes, it was definitely Germany.

 _His_ Germany.

The man's listless eyes went wide in shock as he noticed Italy standing in the doorway. He took a step back and he seemed to tense up as his mouth parted in disbelief. He probably wanted to say something, maybe utter Italy's name, but there was no sound escaping the slightly trembling lips.

Italy couldn't hold himself back. His body moved on its own and before he noticed he was jumping, almost flying towards Germany, knocking him out of his balance as his intact arm circled the man's torso and he was pushing his face into Germany's chest soaking his shirt with tears.

They both ended on the floor, Germany too weak to hold them both up and Italy too shaken to stand on his own. The position was awkward with him practically straddling the blonde man, who was barely holding himself up on his arms in a sitting position. But Italy didn't care as he buried his face into the crook of Germany's neck, inhaling his unique scent which filled him with sentimental and bittersweet nostalgia.

There went his promise about not making a scene.

A part of him wanted to laugh at this pathetic failure as he berated himself mentally, but the other part – the bigger one – couldn't care less at that moment.

Germany was back. _His_ Germany was back. He was happy and sad and relieved and anxious at the same time, and he wanted to say so many things but the tears were in the way.

"Ger- Ger…ny! Germany!" he tried saying anyway. "I'm so sor- so sorry…"

His crying only intensified as he pressed himself more and more to the unmoving figure clutched in his hold.

Germany wasn't responding. He was just sitting there silently and Italy's heart sunk in desperation.

Was Germany hating him so much? Was he so angry to see him that he didn't even know how to react? Was he holding himself back from shouting? He would deserve that. Italy knew that after what happened, after what he did to the blonde nation he would deserve any kind of punishment the man dished out. He would deserve Germany's hatred. He feared it, he hated it, he was not ready for it but he knew he couldn't fight it. He didn't have the right to do that, he only hoped that maybe, some day in the future Germany will be able to forgive him.

But it still couldn't stop him from trying to say everything he wanted to say for long-long time now.

"I'm so sor-, sorry for putting you through this… I'm so-, so sorry for betraying you… for hurting you…" he sobbed. "Forgive me…"

His voice quivered and went really quiet before his throat constricted so much that he couldn't even talk anymore. His chest hurt as he tried to repress the hiccupping sobs albeit without too much success.

 _It's okay._

He tried to reason with himself. After all, he knew it wouldn't be easy. He only came here to apologize anyway. But it still hurt and despite all the pain, Italy foolishly couldn't let go of that single ray of hope twinkling somewhere deep inside him.

But then Germany suddenly moved, his weight shifting under the smaller man.

"Are you stupid?" he asked in that familiar, warm baritone that Italy loved so much. Germany's hands came up around Italy's body and he flinched, squeezing his eyes shut, readying himself for the inevitable to come. For Germany to push him away. To shout at him. Or worse, to quietly order him to leave and not to come back, without even looking at him.

But instead the arms closed around his smaller frame in a tender hug and Germany's head dropped on top of his as the man buried his nose in the auburn locks. "It should be me apologising to you."

A huge weight fell from Italy's chest as he broke down crying like a little child. He hugged back with fervour, not caring that people were watching, that he was making a scene, that his broken arm hurt like hell as he nestled up to the warm body promising hope, love and safety.

"You are such an idiot." He heard Germany say endearingly, noticing that his voice was just as shaken and full of tears as his was.

Italy was happy.

It was okay. Everything was all right.

The dark, monochrome world he was living in so far seemed to finally gain back some colour.

 _To be continued_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

 _ **After 1945**_

It took them years.

Long, painful and difficult years of slowly mending their relationship.

It wasn't always easy, especially staying away from Germany, but Italy waited, patiently as he promised. And it's not that they had no contact at all either, because they talked on the phone from time to time and they saw each other on occasional meetings, It's just that Germany was keeping his distance, and Italy respected that.

It had to be difficult for him as well. Finding his place in this new world and new system as Germany, separated from his brother.

It had to be painful, and Italy really wanted to be there for him, but he understood that Germany wanted to go through the process on his own. He had to find himself on his own.

Besides, Italy was in a similar situation, too. That's why instead of fretting over the blonde man, he concentrated on rebuilding his ties with his brother and his people. He wanted to rebuild his home and ultimately he wanted to rebuild himself.

Yes, that was the most important thing for all of them now, to start anew and build a better world.

And slowly as time passed, without even noticing it, the phone calls became more regular, the meetings less official and more frequent, and suddenly Italy found himself spending the majority of his time with Germany either in his Berlin home, or somewhere in the countryside at his own place.

And the world turned pastel.

oOo

 _ **Between 1961 and 1989**_

Italy haven't held a paintbrush since before the wars. He did draw occasionally to entertain his fellow Axis comrades but those were haphazard scribbles rather than works of art. He missed painting quite a lot, but during the wars he had no time and no inspiration, and as time progressed and the situation got worse he lost his sense of colour as well. But for the first time in long-long decades now, the world finally gained back some _true_ colour.

It was still faint and light, and it was far from the vibrant world he remembered, but the powdery colours created a mellow and comfortable atmosphere reflecting exactly how he felt right now.

It wasn't perfect yet, and he was far from being okay. He was still weakened and unsure, and his relationship with Ludwig was still shaky. But slowly they started to open up to each other and talk about all the important and unimportant things that surrounded them.

And Italy loved those lazy moments when nothing was happening, when both of them could just sit at home together on the couch and read books while listening to the radio. Or when they could chat easily about nothing in particular over a nice meal that he cooked and then clean up together afterwards, just because - despite getting better at the task - Ludwig still preferred making sure that everything was up to his standards.

And Italy never minded that because it was _their_ routine, and it was safe and warm and it felt like home.

 _Ludwig…_

The name rolled off of his tongue with ease leaving a pleasant numbness behind.

Gilbert has chosen magnificently. The name fit the blonde man like a glove and Italy couldn't have been happier that finally they were close enough to each other to use their human names.

It was an honour and a privilege, and it was the symbol of their friendship.

And he couldn't supress the goofy smile that broke out on his face every single time Ludwig became cutely embarrassed when he called his name in a more affectionate manner than it was necessary. But Ludwig never complained and he was careful enough to keep those occasions to the minimum and only if they were in private.

Like now, for example, as he leaned over the hand-rest of Ludwig's cushiony couch after coming back from walking the dogs and _whined_ his name impatiently and demandingly like a child or well, a _lover_ would, who wanted attention.

He was cold. The weather was chilly outside in late January and he really wanted the man under the blanket so he could snuggle up next to him and possibly take a nap.

But Ludwig was busy with something in the kitchen and he was freezing and really just wanted to get warmer, so he called out again drawing out the vowels of the blonde's name as he let gravity take over and do its work, letting his cold body fell over the hand-rest limply. He was still half sitting between the cushions but his torso was hanging down the side of the couch, his hands almost touching the floor.

Blood rushed to his head, heating up his cheeks.

One of the dogs came closer and licked his face, and Italy giggled as he lifted himself back up into a sitting position to pet the animal.

It was then that Germany walked in grumbling disapprovingly with a blush on his cheeks and two steaming mugs in his hands.

"Must you be always so impatient?"

Italy beamed a smile up at him and extended his hand to take one of the mugs and the air filled with the aroma of sweet and milky coffee.

"I'm not _always_ impatient," Italy answered cheekily as he patted the empty space next to him with his other hand. "But I'm not always cold like this, either."

Ludwig just rolled his eyes but made himself comfortable next to the smaller nation. Italy snuggled up to him immediately and somehow the blanket got wrapped around the two of them as well.

It was nice and warm and cosy, and the coffee tasted creamy and just a tad too sweet for his taste as he wrapped his cold fingers around the steaming mug, but it was still perfect. He rested his head on Ludwig's strong shoulder and let the warmth of the other's body seep into his bones. The world really felt like a pastel coloured languid dream.

Italy was happy, and he selfishly wished that days like this would never end.

But nothing could last forever.

oOo

Italy hated sleeping alone. It was a habit of his that started… God, he couldn't even remember it anymore when.

But when he took his first steps on the grounds of the Mediterranean area the world was unrecognisably different. Compared to the cosy and comfortable world surrounding him now, the past was dark and cold. And if there was one thing that Italy hated as a child, and still strongly disliked till today, were cold and dark nights.

So in order to shield himself he always tried to huddle with someone. Usually it was his brother, Romano. The boy grumbled but never stopped him, and Italy knew that his brother needed someone to keep him warm just as much as he did. When they got separated he spent a lot of time with big sis Hungary, and of course later came Germany and Japan, and Prussia on occasions, so there was always someone available.

But he was no spoilt brat either. When circumstances required he had to deal with it, he did so as well, no matter how much hateful it was. At the beginning it was really difficult but he slowly started getting used to it, and meanwhile the world changed as well, becoming a brighter and a warmer place thanks to the advances of new technologies. Still, his dislike for sleeping alone was so much ingrained in his whole being that probably he would never be able to completely adjust to it, no matter how much time has passed.

But if there was one thing he hated more than sleeping alone, was sleeping alone when Ludwig was just an arm's reach away from him.

Nights like this were the most painful.

It always started during the day. Ludwig was just a bit more disorganised than his normal self and just a tiny bit more disorientated. Then came the headaches and soon the man was in bed with a migraine that rendered him completely helpless.

It wasn't something regular but Italy already had time to get used to it. Sometimes Ludwig was okay for weeks, even months, and sometimes the headaches came almost on daily basis. There was no system in it and no real trigger either, and Italy could never tell what the cause of a particular episode was.

Of course, he tried to help the man as much as he could but he soon realised that the best thing was to leave Germany on his own. Mainly because the blonde nation hated being seen in his weakest state and because there was nothing he could do anyway.

These headaches were not caused by something that medicine could cure, it was much deeper, rather affecting Ludwig as a nation and consequently as a person, too.

And Italy knew more than well, why was all of this happening because he felt it as well. Germany, or rather _West Germany_ was missing his other half.

Territorial changes were not unknown to them. It happened all the time. With all the wars, someone lost and someone always gained lands. They were already used to it. But this current situation was a lot different.

The discord started decades ago with "the marriage of old Prussia and young Germany" as humans liked to put it. For them, though, for living personifications of countries, it was a much grimmer situation. Germany who was seeking power at the time took over his brother's territories and Prussia could do nothing against it, only accept. And Italy could feel the ties changing between the two of them even back then. And after the war when Prussia was officially dissolved their relationship, their connection changed once more, with the white haired man becoming East Germany and going away to live with Russia.

The Mediterranean nation couldn't quite explain it but he knew that when Gilbert lost his status as Prussia and became East Germany, his existence became dependent on Germany's. They should have been inseparable yet they were forced apart, and that had to hurt immensely. And just as much as West Germany missed his other half, Italy just _knew_ , that Ludwig missed his brother, his loved one, his _other half_ as well.

This notion always left him in a sort of bittersweet and painful numbness. Ludwig and Gilbert belonged to each other, it was an undeniable and indisputable fact. They were not connected by blood, nations rarely were, but the connection and love they shared, exactly because of that, was deeper and more meaningful than people imagined.

And Italy was glad because he wanted both Ludwig and Gilbert to be happy, because he loved both of them greatly. But that's why it hurt so much as well.

He _loved_ both of them.

He has never told them that.

One, because he didn't know how, and two because he himself wasn't sure what he wanted exactly. He only knew that his feelings were real.

He loved each of them a bit differently. Ludwig was someone he fell in love with time and time again over the centuries. He loved him as Holy Rome and he loved him as Germany, and Italy knew that he would love him no matter the age and century and name, no matter if he became only a scribble in an old history book long forgotten by humans. He fell in love with every aspect of the man be as a person or as a nation. Ludwig was strong and kind and awkward sometimes, and sure he made mistakes but all of them did. And his sense of duty and honour and responsibility was something that Italy admired for a long time now.

And the gushy, melting, disgustingly sweet feeling that enveloped him every time he was nearby the man was like the most magnificent painting of zenith baby blue and fuchsia pink, like a saccharine dream he never wanted to wake up from. It was warm and safe and felt like _home_. Ludwig was always the one who protected him, and he could count on the man no matter what. He always loved him, always romantically, and that has never changed.

Gilbert on the other hand, was an enigma in his life. Their lives were linked from the very beginning and Italy never questioned his love for him. He loved the white haired man, and he tried to look after the Teutonic Knights and later after Prussia as much as he could, as a saviour or a guardian. Even today, his instinct to keep the man safe and away from trouble was present. But he never really noticed when his feelings started to change and becoming something more… _affectionate_. Probably when their roles have swapped, when Prussia became the one protecting him instead the other way around. Or maybe when he realized that the bond between Prussia and Germany was more complicated than he originally imagined. He wasn't sure. But it didn't matter at this point because he was, in fact, _in love_ with Gilbert as well.

It was unthinkable.

Audacious.

It was… _sinful._

No. He shouldn't be thinking like that. Loving someone was never a sin! But it was unfair towards the other two, yet he couldn't help it.

Just like Ludwig, Gilbert was a constant in his life throughout the ages. He was more unpredictable, more untameable, like a wild animal who came into his life just to disappear and then reappear again stirring up his peaceful days. He was rude and loud and confident, overly so, and he was funny, and trustworthy and straightforward and most of all honest. Sure, his honesty hurt sometimes, and he could be a total 'demon douchebag'but he did care for his loved ones and he was ready to sacrifice literary _anything and everything_ for them. He was there when Italy needed him. Gilbert was his pillar of strength. He was like a crimson rose, beautiful but thorny and often difficult to handle but Italy _loved_ him exactly how he was.

And exactly because of that, just like the pastel world that surrounded him and wasn't perfect yet, his life as a person, as a _man_ could never have been perfect either.

He loved and wanted both of them and it was selfish.

He wanted to choose one and it hurt.

There was just no pleasing him and Italy felt ashamed and disgusted that he ever considered that tearing them apart, that choosing one over the other was acceptable. _East_ belonged to _West_ and Ludwig belonged to Gilbert. That's how it was meant to be.

So he remained silent by Ludwig's side, supporting and protecting him as much as he could.

But nights like this were difficult. Because he could feel it as well. As if something was missing, as if something important was taken away from him.

He missed Gilbert, too.

oOo

 _ **Berlin, November 1989**_

It wasn't unexpected.

The air was filled with unrest for quite a while now. People were gathering, moving, protesting, scheming, and demanding their freedom. The cogs in the machinery started turning and there was no stopping it anymore. And then on a cold, early November night the news came.

Italy could barely keep up with Ludwig who was frantically running through the crowd gathered at the Wall, searching for something. He dodged and bumped into people losing the tall blonde from his sight from time to time but he tried to follow as much as he could. His side hurt, the air was leaving his burning lungs in white puffs and his small frame got knocked over as the crowd moved in waves.

People were celebrating. The excitement was thick in the air as everyone was singing loudly, drinking, jumping on the Wall and chipping away from it with hammers, axes and whatever useful they could find nearby.

The border was open.

The Wall was going down.

Adrenalin coursed through Italy's body as well as he got swept away by the excitement around him. History was unfolding in front of his eyes yet again, but he barely even noticed that anymore. He couldn't see Ludwig for a longer time now, so he changed to a faster pace pushing himself through the crowd, elbowing people left and right afraid that he has lost the blonde for good. He shouted his name, but there was no answer, and Italy wasn't really surprised; he couldn't even hear himself over the music and singing and the general upheaval.

Becoming more and more anxious with every passing minute, he was worried because when the news came Germany left the house without even putting on a coat. He has never seen the man so excited, so frantic, so desperate. And it scared him because it wasn't how Ludwig usually behaved.

His sight caught on a tall blonde figure standing next to the Wall. He halted in his steps and moved closer to the man who turned out to be Germany. Italy exhaled relieved. Finally he has found the other.

Allowing himself to take a couple of calming breaths, he rubbed his freezing hands together. It was really late now and the cold only intensified at this hour.

He approached Germany trying to get his attention to drag him out of the crowd to a safer place. He understood that the blonde wanted to be there, after all this was important to all of them, but the mob here so close to the Wall was too excited and dangerous, busy with vandalizing that monstrosity that separated the two sides of Berlin. Well, he could understand the feeling, not like it was unjustifiable, but he'd rather watch everything from a safer distance.

Unfortunately, Germany had another idea as he twisted an axe out of a guy's hand standing nearby and swung it full force.

Italy shrieked as dust filled the air and broken pieces of plaster and bricks fell to ground.

"Ludwig!"

But the man didn't pay attention to him at all. He lifted the heavy axe in the air again and again and again bringing it down on the Wall with his superhuman strength. Some bystanders started cheering for him and clasping but he seemed to tune out everything that was going on around.

Italy was rooted to the ground in shock. Ludwig never behaved like that. He was always composed, holding himself back rather than letting his instincts take over, especially in public.

He didn't know what brought this on. What happened?

 _Just what the hell was going on!?_

And then it hit him. Heavily, like the axe in Ludwig's hand hitting the Wall.

He could feel the proximity of another being like they were and he knew instantly who it was. And suddenly the urge to pick up a hammer overwhelmed him as well but he remained unmoving, standing a few steps behind Germany.

His strength was nowhere near the blonde man's, he would just get in the way. Besides… There was no place for him there anyway. This moment belonged to _them_.

When the Wall got finally breached and the dust cleared, the first thing that Italy could see was a thin, white hand. The axe that Ludwig was holding clattered on the ground and the blonde rushed to grab after the appendage. When people around saw that, they hurried to help out and widen the hole and soon it was big enough for an adult to barely squeeze through.

And the pale hand was followed by an old black coat covered in white, powdery dust and a mop of white, unruly hair, tired vermillion eyes and a cocky smile that beamed thousand times brighter than Italy remembered.

Gilbert.

It was Gilbert and Italy couldn't stop the tears upon seeing the man.

After almost fifty years, finally, East and West were united again. Ludwig and Gilbert were together again.

Italy's knees went weak for a moment as he pressed his cold hands to trembling lips. The urge to run up to the white haired nation was strong but he forced himself to stay where he was.

Seeing Gilbert again after so many years was shocking. He thought he would be confused but his feelings were crystal clear for a change.

Damn, he missed him so much!

And Ludwig had to miss him even more.

The blonde was in tears. He was crying almost shamelessly as he clung to his older brother pushing his face into the crook of his neck.

Gilbert laughed out. His voice was tired but still tinkled with his usual obnoxious mirth that Italy missed so much.

"Oh West, you missed the awesome me so much? That's no reason to cry!" Despite his words he wrapped his hands around Ludwig's shaking body hugging him back strongly.

The picture was rather sweet, and Italy felt his heart being enveloped by a warm feeling.

Gilbert still tried to calm his brother but it seemed to be almost impossible.

"C'mon West, it's okay! I'm-" His voice hitched. "I'm home… now-" The words got stuck somewhere in his throat. Soon, tears were flowing down his cheek as well and he hid his face burying it into Ludwig's blonde locks. "That's totally unawesome…" he said with a quivering chuckle.

Germany snickered as well as he looked up finally, his face a complete mess but his expression relieved and happy.

"Welcome home!"

oOo

The place was in utter chaos. The phone was constantly ringing, friends and family and heads of states all driving them crazy with questions. And then came the guests. Unexpected and uninvited and difficult to get rid of.

Italy tried to manage everything on his own to give some much needed space for Gilbert and Ludwig, but it was getting extremely difficult. Answering difficult questions wasn't exactly his forte, and people were asking him things he didn't know the answer to. At some point he just decided to unplug the phone not giving a damn anymore. It turned out to be one of his best decisions as a momentary silence enveloped the room, and he exhaled relived. Unfortunately, his peace was broken quickly by random people walking all over the house creating commotion again.

It was getting really taxing and he was becoming more and more frustrated, but luckily Austria and Hungary, who rushed there after hearing the news, came to his aid. Together they managed to turn the pandemonium like state to a semi-celebration party and a semi-official meeting.

And this state continued for days.

By the end of the second night Italy was exhausted. He barely slept anything, he was hungry since his meals were rushed bites of leftovers between meetings and paperwork and taking care of guests. He could hardly stand on his feet anymore and the only way to escape from this chaos for a moment was to close himself in one of the rooms off-limits to visitors.

When the door finally closed behind him shutting out all the noise and light he slid down along the wall feeling empty and tired. The place was a mess, there was so many things still to do and on top of that he barely had a couple of minutes with Gilbert and Ludwig so far.

Italy sighed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes.

There was only that one moment when amongst all the commotion and upheaval Gilbert escaped for a minute and approached him in the kitchen, giving him a bone crushing hug and whispered a quiet 'thank you' into his ear before he was dragged away again by someone.

Italy's heart fluttered at the memory.

He really missed Gilbert. He missed having both men in his life, and hoped that now finally they will be able to go back to those good old days like they had before and during the wars. Except the war of course. Italy never wanted to go through something like that again.

He yawned a tired groan as he massaged his sore shoulder. He couldn't stay here for too long or he would fall asleep sitting on the ground.

He mentally prepared himself, and after a couple of minutes of silently relaxing, he gathered enough strength to stand up and go back to that mayhem that people called a meeting. Or a party. Or both, he didn't even know anymore.

His steps on the dark corridor leading back to the main living area seemed out of place and unusually loud after the silence of the empty room. The only other sound he could hear were muffled noises coming from the study, and his lips pulled into a smile as he recognized the voices immediately.

It was Ludwig and Gilbert.

They probably sneaked out as well to get some peace and quiet, and he couldn't blame them for that.

They were probably hungry, too, he thought suddenly. He should cook something nice. A heart-warming pasta dish perhaps. Or something more potato and sausage based to please the boys, he wasn't sure. But it didn't really matter. As long as they could sit down together and enjoy a nice meal it didn't matter what they had. Of course, that had to wait until everyone has gone home, but if he waited so long already a couple of more hours or days would not make a difference.

It would be nice.

It would be like the old times.

Italy was already preparing all the ingredients he would need in his head as he rushed towards the door but his hand stopped mid-air, just before he could have pushed it open.

The noises he could hear from the room were unusual.

Soft groans. Heavy panting.

And as he stepped aside a bit to peek into the room through the slightly cracked open door he saw them. Entangled into each other's arms. Lips caressing lips softly.

He knew it, of course.

He knew the nature of their relationship very well, so he shouldn't have been surprised, yet he stood there rooted to ground unable to move, to utter a word, unable to form a coherent thought. His heart skipped a beat as his chest constricted agonisingly. It was a deep, painful throb. As if an invisible hand was squeezing around his heart. His stomach sunk low in his body leaving him dizzy and nauseous.

He shouldn't be watching this. It was too…

 _Intimate._

It's not that they were undressed or tearing at each other's clothes, hungrily devouring every inch of skin they could. Rather, it was the opposite.

The way Ludwig held the white haired man in his arms as if he was a fragile piece of art, as he looked at him with complete adoration, and the way Gilbert looked back tired but relieved, full of unconditional love and devotion, was more intimate than Italy ever imagined.

And the first though that materialized in his head – the only thought – was that there was no place for him there. No matter how much he wanted to be part of their lives, there was just no way, he could fit in. No way, he could stand between something so precious. He couldn't do it. He didn't want to do it!

But it still hurt.

He wanted to scream, but there was not enough air in his lungs. He wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't tear his gaze away.

They were happy. They were in love.

And suddenly Italy realized that he was crying. Hot and salty tears were wetting his cheeks, his eyes stung as his throat constricted. He choked back a sob and pressed a palm to his mouth to muffle the painful sniffles that were escaping trembling lips.

He couldn't stay here. He couldn't deal with this. Couldn't deal with the pain, not now and probably not ever.

His body went numb, and his legs carried him automatically. Before he knew, he fought his way through the crowd of guests and was standing outside of the house haphazardly pulling on his coat.

Barely anyone noticed him leave. Some people tried to stop him to ask about Ludwig's and Gilbert's whereabouts but he just brushed them aside not even paying attention to the questions.

He didn't look back as he ran out to the street to catch a taxi to take him to the train station. He didn't look back when he finally got one and the car started pulling away from the house.

The tears have stopped and now Italy was feeling empty and tired and helpless. He just wanted to go home. He didn't know what else he could do.

At the station he bought the very first ticket to Rome. And as the train rattled underneath him leaving Berlin behind, and the temporary numbness he felt earlier receded, Italy couldn't stop the tears bursting forward again.

He cried himself into a dreamless sleep that night, soothed only by the monotone clatter of the wheels.

 _To be continued_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 _ **Early 1990**_

It's not that he avoided them consciously. Well, maybe he did but he tried not be obvious about it. And with all the political turmoil that happened recently he had a great excuse, too. Italy was – for once – genuinely busy with all the paperwork and meetings he had with his boss. And he took his job – for once – quite seriously, too.

Ludwig and Gilbert, of course, tried to contact him. His departure was rather sudden and they were worried. Italy felt a pang of guilt wash over him for leaving without a word, but then again, he didn't really know what he could have said.

' _Sorry, I caught the two of you making out and I really couldn't handle the situation because I'm in love with both of you…?'_

That wouldn't go down well. Besides, he wasn't the best at acting, especially in front of the two of them. Even if he stayed, they would have figured him out sooner or later, and the brothers had enough problems right now without him being there to complicate things even more.

This way, however, he has taken himself out of the picture, and rather helped them out by busying himself with official state matters instead.

And as time passed, the phone calls and the attempts to contact him slowly stopped. Italy didn't know how to feel about it. On one hand, he was happy that finally he didn't have to come up with different new excuses and kindly decline their invitations to visit, but on the other hand he felt kind of lonely and abandoned.

Really, there was just no way to please him!

But he had only himself to blame for that. If he wanted to, he could have gone and seen them at any time. It's just that… He wasn't ready. Not yet.

Italy wasn't delusional enough to believe that he would be able to avoid the two Germanic nations forever. Sooner or later he would start missing them too much to keep himself away. Besides, it was part of his job to keep in touch with fellow nations and take part in meetings, although lately he left that to his brother instead.

Right now, however, he still needed some time. He wanted to clear his head. He wanted to think this through, when the emotional turmoil inside him ebbed down finally. That's why he wanted to divert his attention first, and the current political climate gave a great opportunity for him to do just that. So Italy buried himself in work, dealing with state matters and tirelessly doing paperwork from early morning 'till late in the evening.

It was exhausting. Although he wasn't entirely useless when it came to office work it took him way longer and required way more effort than it did for Germany. And after a while he could really feel the strain on his body and on his mind. But he didn't want to stop, because every time he let himself relax a bit his thoughts went to Ludwig and Gilbert entangled into each other's arms and kissing, and each time he felt his heart constrict, and tears threatened to spill. Working till exhaustion, falling asleep in the office on top of his papers was the only way to stop himself from thinking.

Romano was the one who finally had enough of watching him burning himself out like this. One morning, when Italy didn't go home yet again, he stormed into the office and kicked him out without even saying good morning first.

Their relationship wasn't always rosy, with Romano being so hot-headed and temperamental and considering Italy a useless cry-baby, and Italy not entirely understanding his sibling's constant denial of his feelings, which resulted in unnecessary violence – mainly against Spain -, but they did care for each other.

And when Romano ushered him out to the parking lot, throwing a duffle bag at his face and giving him two sets of keys, one to his car and the second one to his home in Venice, and told him that he didn't want to see his ugly expression for the next few weeks, Italy felt a warm feeling spread in his chest, and he really wanted to hug his brother. Which he did, too, earning himself a bump on his head but it was still worth it, because Romano did look cute all red and embarrassed. Italy felt that now he could understand Spain just a tiny bit more.

But it wasn't ideal.

He still didn't want to think about Ludwig and Gilbert and getting away from work was risky from this perspective. But Venice was his _home_ , his birthplace, _he was_ Venice after all, and he really wanted to go there, too.

He could probably occupy himself with something else. He had so many books waiting for him in his study, and the market on the nearby piazza with all its fresh goods was really inviting, and he could go and visit all of his favourite places, travel around the canals in a gondola, and maybe resupply his art set as well.

It would be nice. For sure, he could occupy himself in many different ways, too.

And as he settled himself in the car ready to leave and looked at his reflection in the rear-view mirror he realised just how much he needed a break.

The person who looked back at him was a total stranger. The dark circles under his eyes and his pale complexion was one thing, but Italy was mortified to see how much weight has he lost. His hair was limp and his eyes dull, and really, now he understood why Romano didn't want to see his face. He wouldn't want to watch himself either.

He needed a break, and he would make sure that this time he would sort out his feelings without it affecting his health so much. He didn't want to worry his brother any more.

oOo

Diverting his thoughts in the hustle and bustle of the city was easy, especially that he arrived just before the carnival season.

Italy immediately dived into the preparations for one of his favourite times of the year, immersing himself in work he actually enjoyed doing. Organising exhibitions and performances, sorting through costumes, sampling food and wine, entertaining guests while appreciating the finest works of art came like a second nature to him.

Some would of course think that he was just purely enjoying himself, but he did a lot of paperwork in the background as well. But this time it was more than welcome because the carnival was something he felt really close to his heart. Besides, thanks to all the commotion and work he barely had time to think about his own problems while having fun at the same time.

It definitely had a good effect on his health.

And before he could even notice it, weeks have passed and the festivities have long ended. February was turning into March, the weather got milder and the days longer, and although sometimes it still rained, Italy couldn't complain.

He spent the majority of his time sorting through his stuff at home. He thought about going back to Rome, but Romano never complained of him staying away for longer, and honestly he didn't feel like going back just yet. Now that he had a lot of free time on his hands, his chaotic thoughts and feelings started acting up again.

It was rather frustrating actually.

It's not like he didn't know what to do. There was only one option, really, and he probably decided on his course of action a long time ago. He would never stand between Ludwig and Gilbert, he loved them too much. So he would just remain their weak and goofy friend. He would not change the status quo. And sure, it hurt and it was painful, but he accepted it and he considered his decision a correct one, too. But he just couldn't stop wallowing in self-pity. He hated that.

 _So pathetic._

Anger bubbled up in his chest at his own weakness. He should be stronger than that. It was unbecoming of an old nation like him.

It had to stop.

Therefore, he decided to give himself a couple of more days to indulge in this toxic and unhealthy behaviour, but after that he had to stop. He had to move forward. He should probably bring out his painting supplies, too. It's been decades since he last painted; it was time to start everything anew and begin a new chapter in his life.

oOo

The sky was rather beautiful that evening. Melancholic, with all the different shades of greys and blues and purples, but really pretty too, as the evening sun's last rays peeked out from behind the heavy clouds to tint the dark colours with bright reds, oranges and pinks above the picturesque silhouette of Venice.

Italy couldn't help but to grab after his paints and try to capture this moment. The wooden flooring of his loft, which served as his atelier, creaked under his every step. The air was full of dust and smelled strongly of oil based paints and turpentine.

Italy should have cleaned this place properly, too, but on second thought he kind of liked this unique scent, which brought back so many forgotten memories from long past centuries. It was nice to reminiscent sometimes, and Italy had a vast amount of fond memories here.

The brush glided effortlessly on the canvas as he peeked through the window at the majestic colours of the evening sky.

The picture in front of him was starting to get a distinctive shape. The dark grey and purple contours of the city were nicely harmonizing with the bright orange rays of the sun. The deep midnight blue of the sky easily faded into cobalt and teal and turquoise which he tinted with a blush of pink and yellow, and finished with just a touch of titian red.

It was pretty.

Yet as he was going to apply a next layer, the brush froze in his hand.

Something was amiss.

He couldn't quite explain it.

Granted, the world was still a bit duller than usual, he clearly has not recovered his eyesight fully, but it was close enough. He should have been able to recreate anything he wanted. But the more he looked at his work, the less satisfied he became.

It was missing something.

The blue just wasn't exactly that shade he wanted, and the red just wasn't that vibrant as he remembered.

It was missing something… Unique. A spark. Something that was there, but he couldn't remember it.

His brush swept through the canvas leaving a trail of vermillion behind. It was pretty, but not what he wanted to recreate. This shade of red was missing something important.

Warmth. Confidence. Cheekiness… It was missing that spark that was unique to Gilbert, and Italy sighed exasperated.

 _Here it goes again._

But honestly, he couldn't even remember the colour of his eyes anymore. They barely had a couple of minutes together before he left Berlin and since then months have passed. And it was the same with Ludwig.

Italy knew that the man had blue eyes. Like the evening sky during summer. When the last rays of the sun still illuminated the heavens and it wasn't completely dark yet. It was clear, and honest and straightforward and most of all warm. But no matter how much Italy mixed his paints he just couldn't find the correct shade.

It was driving him crazy, and he stomped his foot like a child, angry and frustrated – mainly at himself – when the brush left a smudge in a place it didn't belong to and in a colour he didn't like. The palette in his hand trembled slightly, and he was ready to chuck it in the corner of the room.

It was the doorbell that saved the poor piece of wood from being violently thrown away. Italy swore silently as he put his tools away and grabbed a dirty, paint stained cloth to wipe his hands as he trotted down the stairs to answer the door. The bell rang again and again, then it was replaced by heavy and impatient knocking.

The nation shouted in rapid Italian towards his unexpected visitor signalling that he was on his way, but the annoying knocking has not stopped.

The man wondered just who the hell came to visit at this late hour. Romano had a key, so it couldn't be him. His neighbours came over sometimes to bring tasty and homemade dishes over, but they never came at this hour.

Italy was curious and irritated at the same time. He really wasn't in the mood for visitors, especially not when he was immersed in his artwork, but then again… It wasn't going exactly the way he wanted it anyway. Some distraction could help.

He opened the door, forcing a smile on his face and cutting off the impatient knocking.

"Buonase-" His voice hitched and he fell silent.

The eyes that looked at him were sapphire blue. Fading smoothly into midnight towards the outer rim of the irises with just a hint of baby blue around the black pupils. And they were sparkling like diamonds or stars in the dusking sky.

Italy felt a sudden urge to go back to his paints and recreate this beautiful colour that he was longing for, but his body was frozen in shock.

"Ah… Guten Abend." Ludwig's voice was smooth and soft, albeit a bit unsure as he looked at him, yet Italy still flinched. "I hope we don't bother you too much."

 _We?_

Italy tilted his head to the side questioningly, his shocked mind not quite comprehending the sentence. But as he peeked over the blonde nation's shoulder he noticed another figure standing behind him. Tall and thin, with white skin and snowy hair.

It was Gilbert.

The man waved and smiled at him reassuringly but Italy didn't reciprocate the gesture being too preoccupied with understanding just _what the hell_ was going on?

Ludwig and Gilbert were at his place, in Venice no less, right in front of his opened door. How did they get there!? How did they know he was living here!?

 _Why did they come?_

Italy's frantic thoughts were disrupted when Germany cleared his throat timidly.

"Ahem, may we come in?"

He stepped away instinctively, letting the two men walk past him and enter the house.

It was awkward. God, he had no idea what to do now. He gazed from one man to the other, looking for clues as to what was going on and waiting for something to happen. He was anxious. His heart was beating at an alarming pace and he wondered if they can hear it, too?

But luckily Germany interrupted the heavy silence turning towards him with a faint smile on his lips.

"It's a really nice place you have here."

Italy looked around the dark hallway confused. It wasn't anything special. Just like any other hallway with a coat hanger and a little table where he kept his keys. Sure, he had some nice paintings here as well but there was no way that anyone could have appreciated it in the semi-darkness of the evening...

And then it hit him.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, where are my manners?" He forced a little apologetic laugh as he led his guests towards the living room. "Please, make yourselves at home."

Ludwig just shook his head.

"No, we came uninvited, and you were clearly busy. So, don't worry." The man's gaze fell upon Italy's paint covered hands and the dirty cloth he was still squeezing between his fingers.

The smaller nation tried to hide it in his embarrassment but the effort was completely futile.

Damn, he really wanted to get away, yet when he opened his mouth to answer the words betrayed him, "No, I wasn't busy, it's fine…"

 _What the…?_

Italy mentally kicked himself.

Why was he doing this? He wasn't ready yet. He should have just said that, yes, he actually was busy, then maybe the brothers would leave. But he felt bad for sending them away, and he actually felt a tiny bit touched that they took the time from their busy schedules to come and see him.

He still needed some time, though. Even just five minutes would do. Just to collect his thoughts and stop his shaking limbs.

An excuse. That's what he needed.

"I should probably offer you some coffee… Ah, no. It's too late for that. How about some tea?" Rambling, like the airhead the world thought him to be, Italy mentally kicked himself again. But he was really shaken right now and thinking straight was difficult. "I'll make some tea for us and clean up a bit. I'll be back in a moment, so please excuse me."

Taking a couple of cautious steps backwards first, he spun around and run from the living room to the kitchen, not looking back at all. _Really dignified_ , he thought to himself sarcastically. But, hey, it wasn't really running. It was tactical retreat. Or at least that's what Gilbert always told him. It didn't matter. What was important right now, was that he had to get away.

The kitchen was empty and dark and Italy was glad for the momentary solitude as he flicked on the lights. The lamp buzzed for a moment, and he looked around considering his next step.

What to do now?

He came here for tea. Yes. He should start with boiling some water first.

Locating the kettle was easy. And before he knew it the stove was burning and the water was slowly warming up.

Italy exhaled letting his jumbled thoughts rest for a moment.

There was no reason to fret.

Everything was okay. He was going to see them sooner or later anyway, so he wasn't entirely unprepared. Actually, he was going to attend the next nations' meeting anyway, and he would have definitely met them there. The only difference now was that their reunion happened a bit sooner than he expected.

Damn! Why did it have to be so soon!

No. No. No!

Italy slapped his cheeks. He just had to calm down!

Right, next step. Wash his hands.

Getting off the paint at this point wasn't easy. It required some proper scrubbing, and really a nice hot bath could have done wonders. But he didn't have time for that, so he decided to soak his hands under the running water and rub the paint off as much as he could until the water for the tea started boiling. Slowly but surely it was getting off, and the monotone scrubbing calmed him down as well.

 _It would be okay_ , he thought. He could handle this situation. Besides, he has already decided a long time ago what he would do when he met the two of them. And he was prepared for the difficulties and pain that would come with repressing his feelings, too. It was not going to be easy, at least for now, but in a long term that was the right decision to make.

So really, there was nothing to worry about.

He was becoming more and more relaxed by the minute. Everything would be-

"Feli, do you need any help with the tea-…?"

When his bubble of comfort and privacy was suddenly breached by an unexpected intrusion, he panicked instantly.

Ludwig's voice hit him like a bullet and Italy jumped, turning suddenly. As his hands flailed around he knocked over the kettle splashing the back of his right hand and wrist with boiling water.

The fire of the gas stove danced for a moment and the water sizzled as it splashed on the surface nearby the flames. The kettle loudly clattered on the floor, and Italy screeched in pain as he pressed his sore hand to his chest.

For a moment he was completely disorientated, the pain overriding any logical thought. Ludwig had to grab him and draw away from the quickly spreading boiling liquid on the floor. His actions were fast and precise, throwing some kitchen towels on the floor to stop the water then pushing Italy's injured hand under the tap.

The smaller nation only realized what was happening when the cold stream hit his hand, and Germany grumbled something about being airheaded.

He was standing too close.

Italy could smell his unique and sweet scent of beer, bergamot and sunshine and his stomach made an unpleasant flip.

 _It's bad._

Germany shouldn't be so close to him. Coming to terms with his decision and upholding it from afar was one thing, but holding himself back while in the arms of the person he loved was something entirely different.

Suddenly, he felt like crying. All he wanted to do was to lean back in the taller man's arms and let himself being taken care of. Ludwig would probably let him do it, too. He would just write it off as him being, well… himself. But on the inside the smaller nation was breaking into pieces, his resolve crumbling in front of his eyes like old, dry paint.

He couldn't let that happen. He went through too much pain and hassle to fail now. So, he disentangled himself from the blonde man's hold, pulling his hurt hand free from the fingers that were gently holding him under the cold stream.

Ludwig's dazzling orbs looked perplexed but he never said anything, yet Italy still felt the need to explain himself.

"I have some antiseptic cream and bandages in the bathroom. I'm sorry I'll be back in a moment."

He didn't look at Germany as he left. He barely looked at Gilbert either who came to investigate what was taking them so long. He just slipped past the white haired man quietly mumbling an apology and soon he found himself in the bathroom rummaging through his stuff to find everything he needed.

The cream stung a bit but it wasn't anything he couldn't deal with. But the bandages were trickier. He was shaking too much to do a decent job and his left hand turned out to be clumsier than he thought. He screwed up the dressing again and again, and when the gauze became heavy and sticky from the smeared on antiseptic Italy felt like exploding.

His eyes watered from pain and frustration as he dropped to the floor exhausted and chucked the soiled fabric at the wall.

"Cazzo!"

He was useless.

He hated this feeling. He hated himself for being this weak. For being a cry baby. For not being able to control his feelings around them. After all this time. After what he decided, he still wasn't able to do it.

Damn it all! Why was he so helpless all the time?

"I knew you would need help."

Italy flinched.

After the way he left he wasn't expecting anyone to follow. Yet Gilbert was standing in the bathroom door, looking at him disapprovingly. If it was because of his behaviour or his clumsy way of putting on the bandages, he wasn't sure.

For a moment the brunette held his piercing gaze but then he looked away too ashamed and feeling too fragile to get into any kind of argument with the white haired nation.

Gilbert sighed, and came closer kneeling down next to him, and gently grabbing the injured hand. He inspected the damage carefully. "That's totally not awesome," he said finally. "You should be more careful."

Without a word white fingers reached after the bandages, expertly dressing the wounds with the utmost care as to not cause any unnecessary pain.

It always amazed Italy just how contradictory the man was. He was known for many centuries as the _white demon_ of the Teutonic Order _,_ thena fearsome military power as Prussia; he also subjugated the Germanic states and built an empire. He created Germany! Yet, he could be gentle and kind, and he was a skilled medic, and he saved thousands of lives with his medical knowledge. Italy never understood how could two so different sides exist within one person.

But something was off.

The smaller nation couldn't quite explain it, but somehow Gilbert was different.

He was strangely quiet. Granted, the situation did not require anyone to talk, but Gilbert usually liked chatting, mainly about how awesome he was, of course. His posture was somewhat more hunched as well, his skin almost translucent and in general he looked listless. Not the bubbly and confident and cheeky awesomeness Italy remembered him to be.

And as the older man looked at the pale hand dressing his wound, he noticed just how thin and bony it was.

It was worrying. But he wrote it off as Gilbert still recovering after being separated from Germany for so long.

"I haven't thanked you properly yet," Gilbert broke the silence suddenly.

Italy looked at him puzzled, not quite understanding what the man was referring to. It had to show on his face, too, because the man continued almost immediately, "For taking care of Ludwig during all those years I was away," he explained. "Thanks to you, he was able to rebuild himself and become a strong Germany again. Both physically and mentally. So for that, I'm really grateful."

Italy blushed, forgetting about the pain in his hand for a moment, and turned away embarrassed at the words.

"I think you're overestimating me."

Staying by Germany's side wasn't as grandiose as Gilbert made it sound. Italy stayed with the blonde man for rather selfish reasons anyway. He loved Ludwig, and he loved spending time with him. It was as simple as that.

However, it still felt good. Knowing that he could be of help to the blonde made his heart flutter, and the fact that it made Gilbert happy too, was the icing on the cake. It hurt, of course as well, especially that he couldn't confess his feelings, but this way he could at least feel that he was part of their lives somehow. And it made him happy, even if it was a bittersweet feeling because, really, all he wanted was to see Ludwig and Gilbert together and healthy and be part of their lives, even if just a tiny bit.

Gilbert smiled at him. But it was weak, and the man looked rather tired and it left the older feeling uneasy.

"I know for sure that without you he wouldn't have been able to recover," the white haired nation said. "That's why I want to ask you a favour."

A favour?

An auburn eyebrow rose curiously. Just what could it be? What could _he_ possibly do for Gilbert? The man was capable of doing almost anything! He was strong and smart and determined! Sure, Italy had its own strengths, too, that could be useful. He was good at cooking but so was Gilbert, and while he was a skilled painter, he doubted that the white haired man needed art lessons.

Well, it's not like it really mattered. He was determined to help, no matter what the request was. So he nodded slightly, urging the man to continue, and Gilbert nodded back.

He took a shaky breath. "I want you to stay by Ludwig's side from now on as well," he said finally after a moment of silence. "And support him in my stead, too."

 _What?_

The Mediterranean nation froze.

In his stead?

"I don't understand… Are you planning to leave?" Italy's voice was weak as he spoke slowly, not sure himself what he wanted to say. He just couldn't comprehend it. What was Gilbert talking about? Why did he say things like that?

The white haired man's fingers twitched slightly squeezing Italy's hand which was still held in his grasp.

"I'm not going anywhere," he answered, but was unable to look at the older nation. "It's just that Germany doesn't need me anymore."

Italy shook his head weakly. N-no. He just didn't understand it.

Choking.

It felt like falling into an ice cold pond. Like when his lungs filled with burning water, and when he coughed and tried to draw in some air just more mud tasting liquid flowed down his throat. He had difficulties breathing. Everything went dark and he struggled to break the surface.

His vision blurred as the room spun around, making his stomach squeeze uncomfortably.

He's been through something like this once. Decades ago in Nurnberg when Prussia told him that Germany has lost himself to despair.

But this time he had to mishear it. There was no way that Gilbert would… That he would…

What was he even talking about?

He tried to figure it out but his mind was completely blank.

 _Doesn't need…?_

Something has snapped inside Italy at that. Forgetting all the pain he shot to his knees, and was in front of Gilbert grabbing his shoulders and desperately trying to shake some sense into him. His injured hand stung but he ignored it. The man felt unnaturally light in his hands, trembling like a weak leaf in the wind. But he ignored that for now as well, as he was too angry to pay attention to details like that.

"What do you mean he doesn't need you!?" Italy shouted. "Right now he needs you more than ever before!"

Gilbert grabbed at Italy's hands annoyed, trying to push them away but he either wasn't bothered enough or he was too weak to pry the fingers off of his body. He looked rather frustrated as he shot an irritated look at the smaller nation.

"As I told you, he doesn't need me."

That was absurd!

What did he mean by saying Germany didn't need him? They were finally united again! They were together again! The wall separating them so far was finally going down. Now was the time that Germany needed his brother more than ever! No, actually they both needed each other! After so many years of being separated, of suffering in silence Ludwig finally had his other half back! How could Gilbert not understand that?

"But you love him and he loves you back!"

"He loves you as well," Gilbert retorted, unfazed by the other's words.

The anger squeezing Italy's stomach and chest rose exponentially yet again. How could Gilbert say something like that!?

Of course Ludwig loved him and Italy knew that. But it was not the same. That's not what he was talking about.

"That's completely different!" he replied furiously, his fingers pressing into the other's flesh even deeper.

The man winced but didn't move and didn't try to stop him. Instead his hard gaze bore into Italy's honey-gold eyes making the Mediterranean nation recoil in shock.

The look Gilbert gave him was anxious and annoyed. Frustrated and crestfallen. As if he was really fed up with all this useless talking. And Italy had to realize that this was the first time in his life that he has seen Gilbert so mad. Well, actually there was that one other time when Germany has hit him and Prussia went ballistic afterwards, but back then he couldn't really pay attention to the man and he sort of went blind from the shock anyway. But other than that one occasion he has never really _seen_ Gilbert truly furious and definitely not at him.

That's why he would have never expected the white haired man to behave like that. He wasn't expecting him to be angry like this, and he didn't understand the reason behind it either. It seemed there were a lot of things he didn't understand this evening.

He plopped back to the floor feeling defeated and confused, bony shoulders slipping out of his grasp leaving only rumpled clothes behind. But he couldn't tear his gaze away from Gilbert's dark eyes, as the man leaned even closer pushing his face to Italy's that their noses almost touched.

His heart skipped a beat. It could have been romantic, if not for the fact that Gilbert's piercing stare was sending chills down his spine.

"No, it isn't different," he said in a low voice. "Besides, you love him since forever, so what's the problem?"

His breath hitched.

 _What's the problem?_

Italy felt like crying. How could Gilbert be so cruel? How could he say that it wasn't different while it clearly was! Yes, he loved Ludwig, he loved him with his whole heart, but the man didn't love him back. At least not in the way Italy wanted him to. And Gilbert knew that, he had to, he just said it himself!

"But he is in love with _you_ …" Italy murmured feeling defeated and tired.

He wanted nothing more than to be by Ludwig's side. Since he met Holy Rome, since he met Germany and fallen in love with him all over again that was the only thing Italy truly wanted. But he wanted nothing more than to stay by Gilbert's side, as well. And that's exactly why he couldn't do it.

And when Gilbert spat his feelings right back into his face, feelings he thought he kept secret for all those years he felt mortified and scared. Did he know about everything? Did he know about the feelings Italy harboured towards him as well? That would be just too humiliating.

Tears were stinging his eyes and he had to bite his lip to keep back the sobs that were trying to escape his throat, as he finally managed to turn away from the sharp gaze the other was giving him.

"I had a feeling you knew about us," Gilbert admitted quietly as he pulled away leaning back against the wall. "And that's why you never tried to go beyond friendship with Ludwig."

The Mediterranean nation's cheeks turned pink in embarrassment.

 _Dammit!_

He never thought he would be found out this way. Though, he shouldn't be surprised that much. Gilbert was one of the sharpest and canniest people he ever had the pleasure to meet. That was one of the things he loved about the man so much as well. And as much as he wasn't disappointed in the man's abilities – despite the situation -, he was highly disappointed in his failure to hide his feelings better.

"I'm not as naïve as you think," he said to save face, but his voice was trembling too much and the whole retort came across as desperate and weak.

Italy cursed himself in his head, but Gilbert didn't seem to pick up on that.

"I never in my life thought that you're naïve." His voice was honest but most of all tired, and there was no reason to not believe him.

But something was still wrong.

Italy couldn't quite point it out exactly, but as he looked at the thin figure sitting on the dark tiles of his bathroom floor and leaning against the cold wall with a look of defeat marring his handsome features, he just _knew_ that something was really wrong.

The room was silent. Gilbert dropped his head against the wall as well and now he was sitting with his eyes shut seemingly relaxing peacefully. His pale hands rested in his lap, and if not for the slight tremble which run through them, he could have looked completely calm.

Minutes ticked away. Long and worry heavy minutes, which suffocated the smaller man who didn't know what to do now.

He wanted to ask so many things but was afraid to disturb the other. He wanted to move closer but he was scared that he might spook the white haired nation.

"It doesn't matter now." Italy flinched. The words came out of the blue, and he wasn't sure if Gilbert even realized that he has spoken because the man was sitting in the same position as before. He wasn't sure if the words were even directed towards him. "It's over," the man continued just as suddenly as before, still refusing to open his eyes. "He's yours. I'm out of the picture."

Something has cracked inside.

SMACK!

Italy rarely lost his patience this way, but the slap that landed on Gilbert's cheek echoed in the bathroom mercilessly, disrupted only by the small nation's heavy panting. For a moment he was probably more surprised than Gilbert, but the anger boiling and bubbling up inside him like a poisonous brew wiped his mind of all rational thoughts.

He loved Ludwig more than anyone. He loved him for longer than anyone. And he stepped aside exactly because of that! And Gilbert knew about it all along. And now he was just going to throw everything back in his face like some kind of used toy and expect him to be happy? To jump after it like some kind of starved animal?

 _How dared he!?_ How dared he disrespect his feelings like that? And Germany's feelings! And his own! Because if he thought that Italy will take this _bullshit_ of Germany not needing him anymore, then he was way out of his mind!

"How can you say that!?" Italy was raging. His whole body shook with fury overpowering and dulling the stinging pain in his injured hand, which was still raised in the air after the blow. "You love him, too, don't you!?" he shouted. "Then why would you want to leave? Ludwig needs you! You two belong to each other!"

The white haired man just looked at him in complete bewilderment. With eyes wide open, he looked straight at him in utter shock. His mouth twitched slightly in disbelief as his hand came up to his quickly reddening cheek, thin fingers ghosting over the place where Italy's palm has connected with his skin. As if he didn't want to believe that this has actually happened. That a weak and puny nation like him even _dared to_ raise a hand against him.

Fear gripped Italy's heart suddenly.

 _Fuck._

Now, that the adrenalin and the anger were subsiding he realized just how an unbelievably stupid thing he had done. Attacking the person who used to be the personification of the strongest military powers in Europe… Definitely a bad move. And while he was sure that Gilbert wouldn't hurt him, not really at least, it didn't mean that there would be no repercussions at all. Even though he still felt that his anger and reaction was justified. Gilbert deserved it for saying outrageous things like that.

Then all hell broke loose.

"DON'T YOU GET IT!? It's not my choice!" Gilbert shouted back just as angrily as Italy did.

He pushed himself away from the wall, his hand curling into a tight fist. Italy recoiled, scooting backwards a bit, expecting to get a punch in his face, but it never happened. Instead, Gilbert hit the floor next to him hard enough that his knuckles cracked and started to bleed. " _Shit!_ " he drew his fist back covering it with his other hand. It had to hurt, Italy realized, because the man's eyes watered as he looked up at him. "I know _Ludwig_ might need me," he said desperately trying to keep his voice at bay. "But… But _Germany_ doesn't!"

"What?"

Italy was at loss. It didn't make any sense. How could Ludwig need him and Germany not? What the _hell_ was going on?

"Germany is a sovereign and a whole country on his own," Gilbert said much calmer this time. His voice was still shaky but he managed to soothe his nerves enough to lean back against the wall again. He gave a resigned sigh. "He doesn't need me. I'm not East Germany anymore."

No. Italy still didn't understand it. What was Gilbert getting at?

"Then who are you now?" There was no answer. The man refused to look at him as well. And as the silence grew heavy between them, the realization and the seriousness of the situation suddenly hit him. "You're… Dying."

It wasn't a question. And there was no need for an answer either. Now that Italy understood what was going on he finally saw it, too. Every little sign that he ignored before, everything what he wrote off as Gilbert still recovering was screaming at him, proving just how ignorant he was. The pale complexion, the bony frame, and that tired listless look in his eyes. And God, his eyes weren't even that brilliant shade of red anymore he loved so much! They were dull and dark, in a deep maroon, almost brown colour.

Italy felt ashamed that he didn't notice it before. How could he been so stupid? How could he been so selfish and preoccupied with his own petty problems that he didn't even notice something so important!?

Gilbert wasn't a nation anymore. He was fading.

Gilbert was… He was losing him.

Italy was losing him and it left him breathless and anxious and…

He couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let him disappear! He didn't save Gilbert's life all those centuries ago just to watch him fade away like that. And Germany… Germany would be heartbroken. Who cared that this was his chance to have the man all to himself? He didn't want that! Ludwig needed his brother and Italy needed the man, too. Italy loved Gilbert too much to let him die!

The cold from the tiles started seeping into his body. He felt numb, his hazy brain full of frantic thoughts.

He had to do something. Anything! After all that he went through, that _they_ went through he couldn't just stand aside and watch everything fall apart! It was madness!

His body moved on its own.

There was one thing he could do. What he knew would work for sure. It was crazy to do it again, but he was crazy enough to try. What could he possibly lose? His life? It was worthless without Gilbert in it. And he knew Ludwig could never recover either.

He didn't pay attention when the white haired man called after him. His mind was focused solely on one thing now, and he felt unnaturally calm as he headed straight for the kitchen.

Ludwig was there, still cleaning up the mess and boiling another portion of water for tea. He looked up questioningly but Italy ignored him as well. He heard steps behind him and he didn't have to turn around to know that Gilbert followed him and was almost at the kitchen himself.

Italy didn't hesitate to move.

He cleared the distance between the door and the counter in only a few steps. Moments later his fingers closed around a decent sized kitchen knife, which he pulled out from one of the drawers. The wooden handle felt familiar in is hand as he gripped it tight and pressed it to his other palm.

Germany shouted something and jumped up but he couldn't understand the blonde man. He looked horrified, his blue eyes dilated in shock as he tried to reach after the knife and stop him. Italy was faster. His fingers closed around the blade and he pulled, slicing soft flesh open.

Someone shrieked. He wasn't sure if it was Gilbert who was already standing in the kitchen door with a look of utter horror on his features, Ludwig, or himself. He didn't feel any pain. It was as if everything around him stopped existing and the only thing remaining was the pressing feeling of saving Gilbert's life.

Time seemed to slow down as both men jumped up to him. Germany reached after the knife which was left to carelessly clatter to the floor. Gilbert tried to grab after his hand, screaming something about him being crazy but the Mediterranean nation disregarded it completely, and with a swift move pressed his palm against the man's open lips.

The move was sudden and unexpected, and before Gilbert could even comprehend what was going on Italy's fingers clasped around his mouth securely, smearing blood all over white skin. He tried to get away, but Italy didn't let him, backing him up to the wall instead. Good thing that Gilbert was weaker than him right now.

Italy's heartbeat picked up. Seconds ticked away like minutes. Now was the time to speak. To make another contract. He had to offer something.

At first, he wanted to give the man back what was rightfully his, but he changed his mind instantly. _They_ didn't deserve him. He felt helpless, because if he could, he would give his whole life to Gilbert, but that was not an option. After all, his life didn't belong solely to him anymore.

And then he thought about Ludwig and the pact he made with the blonde. His life belonged to Germany. So really, there was only one thing he could offer to the white haired man, and he couldn't supress a little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth at the irony of the situation.

Just how befitting it all was. He would give Gilbert what he couldn't give to Ludwig because he was too afraid of standing between the two of them. But now it didn't matter anymore.

His life belonged to Ludwig. And his heart belonged to Gilbert. It felt strangely right.

He didn't have to say anything this time to know that it worked. He could feel it deep inside him, in his very core. Something stirred within, then burned up violently like a furnace leaving his body hot and sweaty. Then the heat mellowed down and faded to the background turning into a fragile flutter like butterfly wings.

He knew Gilbert could feel it, too. Just the way his pupils widened and his irises flashed with crimson, like the blood that trickled from his hand, was enough for him to know that he was successful and everything would be okay from now on.

The world swayed before his eyes. Italy was losing his consciousness, but it was all right.

His hand dropped back next to his body as he took a step backwards trying to grab after a chair and hold onto it for support. He missed, and his hand flailed around before he lost his balance and fell deep into the darkness submitting his body to gravity and waiting for the inevitable pain.

But it never came.

 _To be continued_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Waking up was a slow process of adjusting his senses to the environment that surrounded him.

He was in his own room, in his own bed. Italy could tell that immediately from the scent of his flowery detergent on the sheets mixing with something that was unique to his home. He could also tell without opening his eyes that it was still dark outside because the rays of the sun, which usually shone through the big window his bed was pushed under, didn't bother him at all. When he stirred and tried to move a bit, a sharp pain shot through both of his hands. He stilled but didn't panic.

This time around there was no confusion. He knew exactly what happened and why was he lying in bed with a slight headache and bandages on his palms.

Compared to the previous time he had done this, now everything was crystal clear and just as it should be.

He didn't regret his decision. He felt rather peaceful, actually.

And he knew everything worked out even before he came to his senses. It was a strange feeling, which Italy couldn't quite describe. There was a presence, actually two of them, deep within his soul burning like lone candles in the distance. It was almost intangible, difficult to pinpoint out, but it was definitely there. It reminded him of the feeling when nations conquered new lands and acquired colonies. The new territory belonged to him but it was just a slightly throbbing presence in the back of his mind and not an organic part of his whole being. In this case however, it was mutual. Like a symbiosis.

After what happened in Nurnberg, it took Italy years to understand that he has screwed up his pact. Instead of taking, and giving something in exchange, his life sort of became interdependent with Germany's. It wasn't an active connection, it wasn't something that affected their borders or politics, and actually Italy wasn't even sure if it affected them as nation at all. Sure, he knew he could do it _exactly because_ they were nations but the connection they shared now was a personal one. His life belonged to Germany and Germany was part of his life. One couldn't exist without the other.

When he first understood the essence of this new relationship he had now with the man, Italy freaked out. He was afraid that it would affect their feelings towards each other. The thought that it would change the friendship they shared, that it could possibly even lead to a war, scared him immensely. But it didn't. Most of the time he could barely even notice that there was a constant link between them, and he was almost sure that that was the reason why Germany never really noticed that something has changed, either. Besides, he was quite dense when it came to stuff like that anyway.

With Gilbert on the other hand, his actions were conscious and premeditated. He knew what he was doing and what he wanted to achieve. He wanted to give the man something that would keep him from fading away from this world. He wanted to give him a new name, a new existence, and while he knew it was going against all common sense, that he was being selfish and meddling with things he shouldn't have, he couldn't care less. He would deal with the consequences later if he had to.

And he knew he was successful because Gilbert was part of his life now as well, his presence glimmering in a very distant corner of his consciousness.

His eyes fluttered open slowly, giving him enough time to adjust to the semi-darkness of the room. He looked around cautiously, afraid of a pounding headache attacking him, but he was surprisingly all right, the slight throbbing in his skull wasn't that bothering.

The first person he saw was Germany sitting in his reading chair, which was situated further away along the wall. His head was tilted back, and he was sleeping while the dull, orange light from the standing-lamp cast dark shadows on his handsome face. He looked tired, and Italy felt guilt gripping his heart.

He put him through a lot. No, he put both Ludwig and Gilbert through a lot tonight. The white haired man had to be just as tired. And sure enough, Gilbert was sleeping while half kneeling and half lying on his bed.

It felt familiar. He has seen this picture before, decades ago after he saved Ludwig. He found it endearing even then, and now that he has come to terms with his feeling it was especially _cute_. Although, he would never admit that to the man himself.

A long sigh escaped pink lips. He was reluctant to get out of bed and wake the two of them up. It wasn't surprising that they were here, it did make him happy a bit, too, but he wasn't ready for all the commotion and explaining that awaited him.

He should probably just go back to sleep.

That would earn him a few extra hours of peace. Besides, he was far from ready for this conversation.

It seemed lately his repertoire of failing, running away and being a cry-baby expanded to include procrastination as well. Honestly, he couldn't have been more pathetic, and Italy berated himself mentally as he grabbed at his hair in annoyance and frustration.

And when Gilbert lifted his head with a soft groan, looking around dazed and groggy from sleepiness, Italy cursed, adding stupid to his list of characteristics, too. His level of annoyance skyrocketed, wanting to punch himself in the face.

 _Fuck!_

He had woken the man up with his careless fidgeting!

And Gilbert didn't hesitate to make a scene either.

It took him around three seconds to realize that Italy was awake. And another three to jump up, grab him by his shoulders and shout at him full force, startling awake Ludwig at the same time.

"Just what the _fuck_ were you thinking!?" The smaller man didn't even flinch. He was sort of expecting this kind of reaction, besides, the whole experience seemed oddly familiar. "Have you lost your fucking mind!? Do you even know what you did? What if you have died!?"

Italy blinked slowly.

Gilbert was exceptionally angry. In any other circumstance he would have been scared out of his mind or cowering in fear behind someone stronger. Germany, most probably. But in this case he had nothing to be afraid of. _He did nothing wrong._ And as he looked at the fuming man towering above him with sparkling red eyes, - although not blood red like the Teutonic Knight's, or ruby like Prussia's, nor like the revolutionary red of Eastern Germany's, but deep wine red like the most exquisite Tuscan wine, - he felt satisfied and accomplished.

"Don't be silly," he said calmly, grabbing at the man's hands to push them away from his shoulders so he could sit up properly. He was cautious as to not aggravate his hurting palms but he winced anyway. Gilbert moved away instantly, sitting back on his heels but his demanding gaze was stubbornly pinned on him and Italy sighed. "There was no way I could have died. I knew what I was doing."

Gilbert's eyes flashed with something ominous.

"You knew?"

The smaller man balked as he cursed silently.

They were not supposed to know that. The whole situation was complicated enough, there was no need for extra stress. But he wasn't thinking and Gilbert was too perceptive for his own good. Damn! Now he had to tell them everything!

"It's not the first time you've done this." Gilbert's accusatory words cut through his train of thoughts like a sharp knife through butter. "Who?" Italy's stare jumped involuntarily to the blonde man still sitting in the reading chair. It was barely a fraction of a second but Gilbert caught it anyway. His eyes widened in realization and shock. "You did that to West in Nurnberg! That's how you brought him back!"

Ludwig flinched. His fingers tightened around the hand-rest of the cushiony chair, his knuckles turning almost white. He glanced at them but didn't say anything at first. Instead, he closed his eyes and turned away slightly, his head hanging low, as if he was ashamed. He probably was, those weren't his fondest memories, and Italy's stomach sunk low at the sight. It wasn't something he enjoyed remembering either, and that's why they didn't really talk about it during all those years they spent together. But it was part of their history, and Italy would do it again if it meant saving the blonde man's life.

"Have you really done that?" Germany asked after a short while, breaking the heavy silence after all.

"I was desperate," Italy admitted, hating how the blonde man's voice sounded small and trembling. Was he angry as well? Accusing him of being stupid?

His heart constricted painfully, in anger or fear he wasn't entirely sure. "I had to do something," he continued, anger bubbling up in his chest like violently boiling poison. He would not stand for that! How could they not understand it? He did nothing wrong! "I hated the man who you became at the end of the war, and that was the only thing I could think of. I'm _not_ sorry, and I would do it again!"

Italy's stare was unrelenting and his voice confident. Sure, what he did probably wasn't the cleverest of ideas, but given the circumstances it was their safest option. If Gilbert and Ludwig were angry because he risked his own life, endangering theirs as well in the process, well, fine. He could understand that… Sort of. He would be angry, too, in a reversed situation. But in the end it worked out just fine, so there was no reason for making _such_ a big deal out of it after so many years.

But it seemed the white haired nation didn't share in his opinion.

"How could you be so careless!?" Gilbert shouted as he hit the mattress with his fists, making Italy jump a bit. "Didn't you think that using shady blood techniques like that could be dangerous?"

Italy's breath hitched.

 _What?_ What did Gilbert just call it?

"It's not shady!" he retorted peeved. "I learned it from Grandpa Rome!"

"It's ancient and it was banned for a reason!" the taller man bit back.

As if he would know better! Compared to Italy Gilbert was just a fledgling nation. What could he know about it? How could he understand? Calling something he learned from the Great Rome, from his own grandfather personally _shady_ just because by his time it was already deemed dangerous was pure ignorance! And Gilbert should have known better!

" _Bullshit!_ "

The Germanic brothers gasped.

Even Italy was surprised at his words. Really, it wasn't in his nature to let his irritation overpower him like that. But Gilbert was being stubborn and unfair, and Italy couldn't understand why.

Was it his upbringing? After all he was the child of the church, and was raised primarily by quasi-religious military organizations. But he was liberal and open-minded in so many other aspects of life that it just made no sense at all! And it made Italy furious. "Thanks to this _shady_ technique you could become the Order of the Teutonic Knights." He forced his voice to stay calm, but with the tone he used he could have been shouting just as well. "And thanks to this shady technique Ludwig is here and you will be able to stay with him forever!"

His heart was hammering in his chest faster than ever as he panted in anger, his hands twisting into the duvet and pulling at the fabric in helpless annoyance. Italy never lost his composure like that, or at least he couldn't remember the last time it happened.

 _Ungrateful brats_ , he thought as he tried to calm himself down and blink back the tears of frustration which threatened to spill. He never imagined being so angry at them. He never imagined calling them like that either.

He sighed shakily and wiped at his face, the bandages wound around his hands soaking up the unshed tears greedily. He was past caring, he could barely feel the pain anymore, anyway.

"I always wondered what happened exactly."

Gilbert's unusually calm tone made him look up surprised. The man was sitting on the floor next to his bed, with an expression which was still slightly shocked and confused, but started understanding things finally.

But then he closed his sparkling red eyes and exhaled tiredly and heavily, a solemn look of defeat overtaking his features. A sign of finally giving up and accepting all that happened. Or maybe he was seeing it in a different light now, Italy wasn't sure.

"I wanted to ask so many times, but you didn't want to talk about it, and it didn't feel right to pry into my benefactor's life."

It was true. The older nation didn't want to talk about any of this before but now suddenly it didn't matter. There was nothing to hide, Gilbert and Ludwig knew almost everything, and he felt extremely relieved. Besides, he sort of owed an explanation by now.

And when he finally started talking the words came easily.

"You were born to the Papacy small and weak. Just like a human infant. I have never seen that happen before," Italy said honestly. "Unfortunately, they were not able, nor were they willing to take proper care of you. So I made a decision."

The smaller nation straightened himself, squaring his shoulders, and looked Gilbert straight in the eyes. "It was a straightforward blood pact. I have taken your name as the Holy See, and given you the name of the Teutonic Order in exchange."

It was simple. No strings attached. That was the only pact he didn't screw up. Actually, with this last contract he just made he could have closed the circle. But his selfishness didn't let him do it. Funny, how he promised himself to support Gilbert and Ludwig from the background, and he failed miserably the very first chance he got.

Italy laughed out sourly, scaring the two Germanic nations for a moment. "Ironic, isn't it? I was thinking of giving it back to you. After all, the name rightfully should be yours. But I couldn't. I know the Vatican is not the same now, but I just couldn't. They didn't deserve you and they never will." His throat squeezed and Italy had to take a couple of calming breaths.

It was strange to talk about it almost a millennia later. Old, long forgotten memories and feelings surged forward from the deepest parts of his being, leaving him melancholic and somewhat stuck in the past.

No, he had to be strong. It happened long time ago, there was no reason mulling over it now. And, although, Italy have made a lot of mistakes, he didn't regret any of them. Without them, he wouldn't be the same person who he was today.

"That's why you gave me Venice instead?" Gilbert asked quietly.

Italy looked at him for a moment, then hung his head, feeling a bit ashamed.

"Yes. I chained you to myself. It was selfish of me," he admitted. "For that, I'm sorry."

Gilbert just shook his head.

"I don't understand. Why Venice?"

"Huh?"

What was there not to understand? Actually, his choice was rather accurate, and it shouldn't have made any difference to the other in the first place. But the man seemed to have a problem with his decision, after all.

"Of all the places and territories you could have given me, why this one?" he started. "Why Venice? _Venice_!?" Gilbert grabbed at the sheets and the fabric rustled under his touch.

He looked desperate. His eyes, which shimmered like red wine in candlelight were full of unshed tears. He was frustrated and still angry, and most of all confused. "You were in love with West for centuries, have you not? So why would you keep me alive ruining your chances of having him for yourself? Why would you give me your most cherished city? Venice is your birthplace, your home, your history! _You_ are _Venice_! So, why would you do that…?" His voice was failing. His hands were trembling. He was ready to disappear, to fade away. Yet he got another chance. Another name and another life. And suddenly the world made no sense.

And Italy finally understood it.

And he blamed himself because, really, without him being honest, it made no sense. And as much as he was scared and afraid of rejection, there was no point in hiding his feelings anymore. Ludwig knew he loved him. Gilbert was the one, who said it out loud. Everything was in the open. And Italy was really tired. Everything he went through, his decision to not change the status quo between them was ruined anyway. Because when he faced the two most precious people in his life, somehow, subconsciously he did and said things that would break their relationship he tried to protect so far. And now was the perfect chance to get it out of his system. What was the worst that could happen? Gilbert would just simply say that he didn't feel the same and that would be it. It would be awkward, but with time they would get used to it. There was nothing else to do.

"Isn't that obvious?" he asked after gathering a bit of courage.

He couldn't quite look at them. Instead, his gaze fixated on the patterns of his bedding. He was sure that his face was ablaze in embarrassment, as well, but there was no helping it. Soon, everything would be over. "Ludwig can't live without you, and I can't live without him. Besides, I have given you something that already belonged to you anyway. My heart." He stopped for a moment, waiting for a reaction which never came. Was Gilbert too stunned to speak? Did he not understand him? Italy didn't dare to look up. "Don't you understand? I _love_ you. I love you just as much as I love Ludwig. I know it's outrageous and audacious of me but I-"

He couldn't finish, but God help him, he wanted to. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to explain his feelings. To apologize. To tell them that it was all right to not love him back. He saved both of them because he wanted them to be happy together. That he would always be their friend, and despite his feelings he was content with this position.

But he couldn't do any of that because the bed dipped and creaked underneath him and before he was even able to comprehend what was happening Gilbert's thin and slightly chapped lips pressed to his, shocking him into silence.

His heart skipped a bit. Body froze.

The world around him disappeared, leaving nothing else just the fresh scent of early winter mornings, pine trees and steel behind, and the feeling of a hot mouth sealed over his.

One of Gilbert's hands waved itself into his auburn locks keeping his head in place while the other sneaked around the small of his back. The kiss was firm and assertive but not demanding or dominating, yet Italy still felt trapped. Not that he really wanted to escape. Not that he was able to even think about something like that.

The lips moved against his slowly, hands tightening just a fraction. He didn't reciprocate, but he let Gilbert do whatever he wanted, and that seemed to be enough for now.

When they finally broke apart the man didn't pull away too far.

"You're such an idiot," he murmured before pushing his face into the junction of the smaller nation's shoulder and neck.

Italy was breathless and confused.

 _What?_

Mind hazy, he was only very slowly grasping what have just happened. Hands came up automatically, whether to push the other away or hug him he wasn't sure. But as his fingers touched the white haired nation's body and he noticed just how much he was trembling, reality gradually started catching up with him.

Gilbert just kissed him.

 _Gilbert._ Kissed. _Him._

And now he was hiding his face, refusing to look at him completely.

"Gil?" There was no answer, and before Italy even noticed his tentative touch became a reassuring hug, his bandaged hands gliding calmingly over the expanse of the man's slightly shaking back.

Was he crying?

Italy's head was spinning.

No, that was impossible. Why would he cry? There was no reason, but there was no reason to kiss him either.

Thousands of questions were whirling in his mind. Just what was going on? This vortex of emotions felt like sitting on a carousel that he couldn't stop. And he wanted to ask so many questions at the same time that finally the only thing he could squeeze past his lips was the taller man's name again.

"Gil…"

"Just leave him be for now." Ludwig's voice painfully reminded him that they weren't alone in the room, and Italy's heart stopped for a moment.

He turned bright red as he looked at the blonde, who was still sitting in the chair with an expression he couldn't read at all.

He wondered if the other was angry that Gilbert kissed him. He wondered if he should apologise and if he should, would Germany forgive him? He had to try.

"I-" he started unsure of himself. "I- I'm sorry? I'm- I mean… Ludwig?"

He fell silent when the man stood up and sighed. Quite honestly, he wanted to run away but Gilbert seemed to be completely glued to him, cutting off any chances for an escape.

"You really are an idiot," the blonde said as well, walking up to the bed and sitting down, nudging his brother away in the process.

The older scooted deeper towards the wall. He kicked off his shoes a long time ago and now he was sitting in the middle of the bed, still burying his face into Italy's olive skin, but this time on the smaller man's opposite side so Ludwig could take his previous place.

Italy was scared.

His heart was pounding in his chest faster and louder than ever. It felt like there was no air around him. His hard breathing was the only source of noise in the otherwise quiet and tense room.

Ludwig's silence was suffocating him. His piercing blue gaze burnt his skin. He couldn't look at the man. He needed him to say something.

Do something.

Anything!

He needed a clue. Anything he could latch on to, because his self-restraint was breaking. He was giving up his rational thoughts and foolishly letting hope spark somewhere deep within, leaving his chest aching as if someone was agonizingly slowly turning a knife inside.

Ludwig's closeness was suffocating.

Why didn't he say something? Why was Gilbert still holding him? Why were those sapphire orbs looking at him with devotion and tenderness?

 _Why did it hurt so much…?_

"Ludwig…" It sounded like a plea, but he wasn't sure himself what he wanted exactly.

But it seemed the blonde understood him anyway, because his big and warm palm closed around his cheek gently.

Italy flinched surprised, his quivering mouth opening for a question what he could never ask as this time soft and plump lips pressed to his preventing him from speaking.

Time has stopped. If only for a moment or for an eternity Italy couldn't tell because in that moment his world consisted of nothing else but the scent of summer, beer and bergamot.

His head spun again. His heart hammered in his chest and it felt like thousands of butterflies were fluttering in his stomach.

He wanted to cry. He wished this moment would never end. He hoped it was real.

No.

It had to be because he couldn't possibly handle another dream like that, especially not one that was so realistic.

He could feel Gilbert's breath tickling his neck and Ludwig's warmth seeping into his body. He could taste the blonde's lips as he tilted his cheek and deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against his in a slow and deliberate motion.

If it was just a dream then he never wanted to wake up again.

It didn't last too long. Germany pulled away just as suddenly as he kissed him, leaving him breathless and panting. He looked at the brunette with an endless swirl of emotions in his eyes, like the bottomless sea under the vast starry sky. It was difficult to say what he was thinking, but his hand was still glued to the smaller nation's cheek reassuringly.

"You're crying," he whispered faintly, wiping away the tears with his thumb.

Italy automatically reached to his face, and he was staggered when his fingers touched something warm and wet.

Just when did this happen? He didn't notice a thing!

He wiped at his face furiously rubbing everything into the bandages again until Ludwig stopped him, grabbing his arms and making him look up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," the blonde said apologetically. "Was it really that bad?"

For a moment Italy didn't understand what was the other talking about but then as he realised it, the sheer absurdity of the question paired with Germany's serious expression made him chuckle.

Was he seriously enquiring about his kissing skills? It was so like Germany to ask the stupidest question with such a straight face! For a moment everything went back to the old days when they were just goofing off, Ludwig of course taking everything way too seriously, and Italy couldn't contain himself.

But when the man smiled back at him, that warm, melting smile of his, which he came to love time and time again, the dam just burst, and he was sobbing again, fat tears smearing all over his face as he tried to hide himself in the shirtsleeve on his upper arm, because his hands were still held high by the taller nation.

Ludwig was around him instantly, drawing into his lap and detaching from his sibling, arms tightening around the smaller figure securely in a safe embrace. Italy latched onto his shirt immediately, burying his face in the soft fabric and cried like a baby, soaking everything with tears.

It was Gilbert's turn to try and calm him down by massaging his back, and he could hear Ludwig's soothing words too:

"Feli? Come on, don't cry. Say something."

But he couldn't.

Every time he opened his mouth to speak just more sobs burst forward, leaving him a complete mess. He didn't know himself why he broke down like that. He wasn't sure if he was happy or sad or confused or angry or really, really, _really_ hopeful. Probably all of it at the same time. And he was really embarrassed, too, because he was being a cry-baby, again, and it was one of those sides of his he didn't want to show to the Germanic brothers in the first place. Not like they didn't know already.

But it also seemed they didn't give a damn either, because Gilbert's hands peeled him off of his brother's chest, holding his face between his two palms as he kneeled before him, the bed creaking with his every move. And by the look on his face he didn't care how disgraceful and messy Italy looked right now.

"Don't be like that. What's wrong? Isn't this what you wanted?" he asked quietly. His expression was worried, as if he was afraid of Italy's answer.

It didn't suit him. This vulnerability was way too much out of place, and the Mediterranean nation was furious with himself because he was the cause of that, again. And he hated the fact that despite everything, Gilbert's tender touch and kind words made his heart flutter.

If it was what he wanted, he wasn't sure. He never dared to even imagine that something like this could happen. That he could have them both. That he didn't have to choose. All what he wished for was the two of them being happy, and him being part of their lives in any way possible. He was fine with being just a friend.

But suddenly he found himself in this new and unbelievable situation, and he didn't know if he was awake or still dreaming.

"I just- Wanted the two of you to be happy," he answered honestly, trying to calm his hiccupping sobs.

Ludwig shifted beneath him at that, his arms sliding up his body and tilting his chin a bit upwards so they could lock gazes.

"It would make us indescribably happy if you would accept our feelings," the man said seriously, his eyes never leaving Italy's honey-gold orbs.

The smaller man's breath hitched.

"For real?"

"Yes." The response came from two mouths simultaneously.

"If you're doing it only because you feel obliged-"

Gilbert's finger on his lips stopped him, and the man smirked cockily.

"When has the awesome me ever done something so selfless?"

 _Plenty of times,_ Italy wanted to reply but he stopped himself.

The man was right.

Normally, he wasn't the one to share. He was possessive and jealous and competitive. He was generous when it suited him, when there was something to gain. Or if it was beneficial for Germany. The blonde was probably the only exception.

No, maybe Italy was an exception, too. The Teutonic Knight and Prussia swore to protect him, it was probably ingrained in the white haired nation's whole being at that point, and Italy never questioned it really. But he always though that the man was nice to him out of duty and later because he felt he had to repent for taking Holy Rome away. And not because he liked him in any sort of way. But perhaps he was wrong. Maybe he was just incredibly blind and naïve all this time.

And as this realisation hit him hard, like a bullet in the chest, his eyes watered again and he buried his face back into Ludwig's shirt.

"Is it okay to be really happy right now?" he murmured as his hand fisted into the fabric.

The two men grinned and the arms holding him squeezed just a bit tighter.

"Yeah, it is."

He couldn't believe it. He didn't _dare_ to believe it. It had to be impossible.

But the body heat surrounding him felt too real. And the strong heartbeat under his ear, and the feel of hard muscles under his fingertips was a constant reminder that everything was, indeed, real.

"Is it a dream? Am I going to wake up?" The question slipped out of his mouth subconsciously. He wanted it to be true so badly but he was still afraid to accept it. What if he wakes up after all? What if this is just a hallucination, his crazy mind playing tricks on him? He didn't want to wake up alone.

But his insecurities were washed away when Gilbert slipped even closer, sandwiching him between two warm bodies and pulling his face up. His wine coloured eyes lit up the semi-darkness of the room and his lips pulled into a self-satisfied but genuinely happy grin.

"Let me show you just how real this is."

He pressed his mouth hotly to Italy's, sucking out the breath from his lungs. His tongue invaded the other's wet cavern, gliding over teeth and nibbling at pink lips. White fingers slid into auburn locks tilting and pulling even closer, angling his head so he could devour the smaller man completely.

It was overwhelming.

There was no battle for power or dominance, even if Italy wanted to fight he couldn't. Gilbert was invading his mouth, his mind, his senses and all he could do was to submit. And he did that willingly and happily as his arms wound around the white haired nation's neck invitingly.

Gilbert didn't hesitate to press closer, his hands now roaming freely, pushing the lighter man back against Germany's chest.

The heat was getting unbearable. Italy's head spun more and more as the need for oxygen intensified. But he couldn't stop. He didn't want to stop. His skin tingled where the other has touched him and he couldn't get enough of the feeling.

When they finally broke apart he was panting, slowly becoming hot and bothered. The more rational part of his brain screamed at him that it was inappropriate. That he should be ashamed. But as he looked at the man in front of him, whose skin was tinted pink and his eyes resembled liquid fire, he couldn't care less.

He had no time to comprehend that thought fully, though. He had barely any time to recover or catch his breath. Ludwig dived after his mouth almost immediately, grabbing his chin with one hand and tilting his head backwards, sealing their lips together.

It was hot. And moist. The wet appendage explored every crevice of his mouth and their tongues danced and glided against each other in the most enticing of ways. This kiss was less dominating. They battled against each other on equal terms, Italy getting his chance to push forward and explore, as well.

Ludwig's kiss was so different compared to his brother's that Italy not only couldn't tell, but didn't even want to tell which one he liked better. Gilbert kissed passionately and possessively. He took what he wanted and burned everything around, leaving his partner a mess craving for more. Everything about him screamed sex and erotica. Ludwig on the other hand was more compassionate. He took and gave, he was sweet and caring and he was desperately trying to keep his strength in check, making his partner want to give even more.

And Italy wanted both.

Ludwig's fingers which sneaked under his shirt tickled his sides, and he moaned into the blonde's mouth when Gilbert attacked his neck biting, licking and kissing. In response his body moved automatically. One of his arms circled Germany's neck pulling him down even more, while the other hand tangled itself into white locks.

Gilbert bit down at the junction of his neck and shoulder hard enough to leave a prominent mark, but not enough to draw blood. Italy groaned loudly, the slightly rough treatment going straight to his groin.

He broke the kiss needing air and a bit of time to collect himself.

His mind was hazy, body feeling strange. The only reason he wasn't completely mortified at his shameful state was the fact that both Ludwig and Gilbert were panting just as heavily as he was, and their fair skin was blooming in different shades of pink.

"I want the two of you to kiss as well," he said suddenly.

Now that he thought about it he haven't seen them kiss so far. They were giving him a special treatment but neglecting each other, and even Italy knew how unfair it was. He wasn't as selfish, besides curiosity was gnawing at his sides. He wanted to know how it felt to see it from a different perspective. In Berlin he was an outsider, a third wheel – or at least that's what he thought - and that broke his heart. But now his presence was wanted, needed, and he was actively part of their lives.

And he was curious.

Ludwig looked at him surprised but there was no judgment in his eyes, and a delicate white eyebrow arched quizzically at the request from Gilbert's side as well. But then the man smirked at him cockily and pressed forward, leaning over his shoulder, grabbing his younger brother's shirt and pulling until their lips clasped together hungrily.

It was a true battle for dominance this time. Neither of them wanted to give in as lips fought, bit and devoured the other. Hands fisted into hair and clothes, pushing and pulling seeking for more skin, more territory to mark, as lips tried to quench a thirst, a need that Italy was starting to feel as well now.

It was different from that one kiss he saw before. This was hungry and raw but the love was still there.

And damn, it was hot!

Italy squirmed as his trousers became more and more constricting, and scooted backwards in Germany's lap, not wanting the others to find out about his predicament, only to be met with a similar hardness poking against the small of his back.

Ludwig gasped at the sudden contact, breaking the kiss and dropping his head onto Italy's shoulder. His whole face, neck and ear were red in embarrassment accentuating his blonde hair even more.

"Ah… I'm sorry. Please ignore it," he mumbled into the smaller nation's skin with strained voice.

He was too cute. And too defenceless.

And Italy was relieved that it wasn't only him. He felt vulnerable thinking that only he was affected that badly, but knowing that Germany, – the always composed and collected Germany – was in a state like that, was reassuring.

He pressed a quick soothing kiss to the man's ear anyway.

"I don't mind it," he said encouragingly but Ludwig refused to look up.

Italy sighed. The man was too shy, and although it was so typically Ludwig, the Mediterranean nation didn't understand why. There was no reason to be ashamed. They were all men, and he was just as aroused as his two _lovers_.

He tasted the word in his mouth for a moment. It sounded good. Left him tingly and warm. And he let the feeling mix with anticipation upon all the possibilities the word entailed spread in his body, before rolling his hips boldly, pressing back against the blonde's erection and brushing against Gilbert's with his own.

The feeling was electrifying and all three of them groaned at the same time.

The man above him shuddered and he had to grab at Italy's small shoulders to hold himself up before collapsing.

"Are you sure about this?"

Gilbert's voice quivered. He was barely holding himself in check. Body slightly shaking, his eyes resembled molten lava and lust. Ludwig's arms trembled around him as well, and if this self-restraint from their part wasn't enough to show him just how much they cared, then nothing was.

And he felt special, honoured and loved, and it just made him desire them even more. He wanted to give them everything he could offer.

"I've never been so sure about something in my whole life."

There was no need for an answer. Gilbert dived after his lips like a starving animal devouring him completely. His hands slid down from his shoulders, pushing him down into a half lying position, while nimble fingers twisted into his clothes trying to get the buttons undone.

Ludwig helped him as well with his warm hands roaming across the small body and pulling at the fabric. His mouth pressed against Italy's neck, licking and biting and driving the smaller nation insane with desire.

It was unfair.

It was two against one. And they were stronger than him.

Italy could barely concentrate long enough to grab after Gilbert's t-shirt to pull it over his head, and there was no way he could get the annoying buttons undone on Ludwig's clothing. He wanted to protest but the moment he opened his mouth the white haired nation bit down on his now exposed chest, sucking a nipple between his teeth.

Italy cried out. Hands clasped around his mouth to muffle the shameful noise, but Ludwig pried them away to replace them with his lips.

The world was hazy.

All he could feel were lips, fingers and tongues licking, caressing, biting, and touching and everything blurred into a hot mess.

He was falling. Losing control. The world was being overtaken by his two lovers.

But he couldn't let go just yet.

With his last remaining strength he reached up and grabbed at Ludwig's shirt tugging at it demandingly. His pleasurable tortures stopped for a moment giving him enough time to collect at least some of his thoughts.

He pulled at the garment again.

" _Off!"_

He wasn't sure if he actually said that or if it was only in his head, but Ludwig understood him anyway.

And as the blonde smiled warmly, and started working on his clothes, Italy reached after Gilbert as well. But the man was a couple of steps ahead tearing at his trousers and socks and flinging them somewhere deep into the room.

Before Italy noticed they were completely naked. Suddenly he felt bashful. Compared to his weak and effeminate physique his lovers were strong and beautiful. It's not that he never saw them in the nude before, but it was the first time that he appreciated their bodies with such open lust and hunger.

Ludwig was all well-built muscles rippling under alabaster skin. His plump lips were red and raw from biting and kissing, and his hair was deliciously mussed creating the most desirable picture ever.

Italy wanted to paint him. One of these days he definitely will do it too, even if the man felt embarrassed about it.

In comparison Gilbert was much leaner, obviously still recovering from losing his status as a nation. But compared to the way he was before Italy gave him Venice, he looked healthy and energetic, gaining back his vitality minute by minute, his pale skin turning lovely pink from heat and arousal.

And the small nation felt extremely self-conscious. He was nothing like them and he couldn't fathom, what were they even seeing in him?

He instinctively reached for the sheets to cover himself but an animalistic growl stopped him.

Gilbert' eyes were those of a predator, and Italy shivered. No one has ever looked at him like that before. He felt like a prey being forced into a corner. Like a starving animal's first meal in a long time. And as scary as it was, it was also incredibly exciting. Gilbert's liquid-fire eyes looked at him with hunger.

He was going to be eaten alive.

A sharp tug at the sheets alerted him to Germany's looming presence, as well. The blonde's fingers twisted into the fabric trying to pull it away but Italy didn't let go.

"Don't hide yourself." It sounded almost like an order and the man's voice was dangerously low. His piercing blue gaze flashed with something dark.

Italy gulped.

"Ah, but I'm embarrassed," he protested weakly.

Ludwig yanked at the fabric again.

"No need." He leaned closer, whispering into the smaller nation's ear. Another pull, and the sheets were gone. "You're beautiful."

Italy went numb.

His whole body turning tomato red at the compliment.

He was still embarrassed. He wanted to reach after a duvet or a pillow or anything really to cover himself, but he forced his shyness away. Like an electric shock, the words run up his spine leaving him pleasantly tingly and melting.

They thought he was beautiful, and nothing made him happier. So he let himself relax into their inviting embrace, and be swept away by the turmoil of feelings that raged like a hurricane in his chest.

The siblings attacked almost at the same time, claiming his lips, chest, neck and fingers swiping over the most sensitive parts of his body, tickling slightly but not distracting from the pleasure.

His sanity was slipping. Like trying to catch water with bare hands, no matter how hard he tried there was no way he could succeed.

And suddenly he was lying on his back, dizzy and panting and hot, his two lovers hovering above him kissing wherever they could reach. Then a scorching hand closed around his erection and gave it a tug.

Italy gasped.

Heat was spreading in his belly at an alarmingly fast pace at being touched and played with in this most sensitive of places. Then a slick tongue slipped into his mouth demandingly. The wet appendage explored pushing forward, gliding over his tongue sensually as Gilbert's taste exploded in his mouth, then the man sucked him into his own mouth. He didn't let Italy explore, he dominated every moment and every move until he pushed forward again. And this continued like that as if he was imitating… Ah! Italy's head was turning into mush. No matter how embarrassing it was to admit – even within the privacy of his own mind – he just couldn't deny the simple fact that Gilbert was fucking his mouth with his tongue and it felt absolutely glorious!

The smaller nation's head was spinning. He could barely breathe or think but the white haired man's bold actions prompted him to act as well. He didn't know where he got the idea or the courage from, but his fingers waved themselves into white and blonde hair respectively, keeping Gilbert's head in place and his lips occupied, while pulling Ludwig closer as well until they all met in a messy, wet and magnificent three-way kiss.

Someone groaned loudly, Italy wasn't sure who. He was too preoccupied in indulging in this deliciously decadent taste of the three of them mixing together. It was so right that it was almost wrong. Or the other way around. He didn't know anymore. He didn't care either.

Tongue met tongue met tongue and lips pushed and tugged as saliva dripped down their chins.

Italy was hard and extremely needy. He couldn't get enough of them. He wanted every inch of Ludwig and every inch of Gilbert for himself. He wanted to taste and touch and mark, and finally his lovers were engrossed in the kiss deep enough that his hands could roam freely.

And he didn't hesitate to glide over smooth skin and rippling muscles, then reach after their vital regions.

The kiss broke. A white head landed on his shoulder panting heavily, while Germany trembled under his touch. But he collected himself quickly, claiming his lips in an unusually possessive fashion.

"How… ngh-,"Germany started, but Italy squeezed his fingers a fraction and the blonde moaned. Having this kind of power was addictive. "How do you want to do it?"

He barely paid attention to the question enjoying the feeling of hot and solid flesh between his fingers. His brain could form only one thought: he wanted them. _Both_ of them.

"Feli?"

Germany kissed him again trying to draw back his attention but with no success. His mind was a hazy mess. God, he wanted the two of them so badly!

It took Gilbert's long and elegant fingers wrapping themselves around his member as well to make him finally respond.

"Feli…?"

" _Both."_ The word slipped out almost unconsciously.

He wanted them both. There was no denying it. No going around it either. He couldn't choose and didn't want to choose in the first place.

The hands pleasuring him suddenly stopped, and two pairs of eyes looked up incredulously.

"Both?" Ludwig asked astonished, his mouth hanging slightly agape.

"Are you sure you know what you are asking for?" Gilbert asked as well, looking just as surprised as his brother. "Have you done this before? Do you know how it works?"

Italy blinked confused. His lovers' reaction left him worried. Was his request so unusual? Did he say something stupid or wrong? His stomach churned unpleasantly.

"I've never done this with a man before," he admitted quietly. "But I know how it is done. Big brother France taught me everything."

Sure, he had no experience but he had a fairly good theoretical knowledge on this subject. Besides, Italy was confident that as the Roman Empire's grandchild he would manage just fine. His heritage would help him. So there was really no reason for the two Germanic nations to be so shocked.

Actually, Italy was a bit hurt at their reaction. Okay, he was a cry-baby and perhaps he wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn't completely stupid and hopeless either. And he was just about to word this when Gilbert suddenly grabbed his arms and pulled him into a sitting position.

"Please, tell me that the wine drinking pervert didn't touch you."

"What?" Italy was stunned and outraged at the same time. What was Gilbert even thinking of? "Of course, he didn't. He taught me everything from books."

Just how bad was big brother France's reputation, anyway?

But the white haired man exhaled relived and drew him into a bone crushing hug, cutting off all of his other thoughts.

Italy couldn't resist as his body reacted almost immediately to the physical contact, and he melted into the warm and secure arms. The scent that surrounded him made his head fuzzy, too.

"You don't have to push yourself," he heard Gilbert saying after a while.

Italy disentangled himself from the embrace. The man's look was tender, deep, wine-red eyes enveloping him in heat and love.

His chest ached. But it was a pleasant feeling, not that constricting and suffocating pain from before.

"I'm not pushing myself," he said reassuringly.

But Gilbert didn't seem to be convinced.

"It can be painful," he started as if trying to scare off the smaller nation.

Fair enough, he didn't like pain. But it's not like he couldn't handle it. Besides, all in all it was supposed to feel great, and even if it didn't, it didn't matter. He just wanted to be together with the two of them. He wanted to give himself to Ludwig and to Gilbert.

"It's okay," Italy took it a deep breath. There was nothing to be afraid of.

But this time Ludwig was the one who tried to discourage him:

"Feli-"

"It's fine. Really!" The Mediterranean nation didn't let him finish. He smiled at the blonde and extended his hand which the man easily accepted.

Italy pulled him closer, and the three of them ended up sitting entangled into each other's arms with him in the middle. "It's okay," he repeated confidently. "If it's the two of you, I know everything is going to be just fine. I love you," he said as he arched up a bit to press his lips to Germany's in a reassuring manner.

It quickly turned into a proper kiss, their mouths moulding together perfectly, awakening their desires yet again.

Italy gasped and pulled away when the heat started to get unbearable. He turned towards Gilbert this time. "And I love you, too." He leaned closer to the other and pressed their lips together timidly.

It was the first time he initiated, and it was exciting.

How would Gilbert react?

He half-expected him to respond in the same way. To be possessive and dominant, or possibly to let him explore just a little bit. But when the man not only relinquished his dominant position but submitted to his will completely, Italy almost forgot what he was doing in the first place.

He collected himself quickly though, not wanting to waste a chance like that and pushed forward. His tongue invaded the other's hot mouth greedily exploring every crevice. Hands glided over Gilbert's chest and shoulders, one of them sneaking around the man's pale neck, the other fisting into milky hair.

Italy bit down pulling a slightly chapped lip between his, too bold and drunk on desire, and that was the moment when Gilbert snapped.

He attacked, taking back control, his hands shamelessly roaming the smaller figure.

Italy didn't fight back, he just let himself being dominated in this most pleasurable of ways, and the white haired nation showed his appreciation by showering the light body with occasional kisses and nips. And when Germany joined in as well, pressing scorching lips against olive skin, it felt like the world was going to explode.

"I promise to make it as painless as it is possible," Gilbert said between two bites.

The brunette looked at him through eyes hazy with desire.

"I know," he nodded. "I trust you. Both of you," he added turning towards Ludwig as well. The man pecked him on the lips quickly before the smaller was pulled into white arms again.

"Good."

Gilbert smiled at him smugly, too.

Then a hot mouth sealed over his demandingly and Italy was lost. When they finally separated, red eyes flashed with hunger.

"Lube?"

It took some time until the question fully registered in his brain, but when it finally did he could only form a curt answer as a rush of adrenalin flowed through his veins.

"Nightstand. In the drawer."

He wanted to get the lotion himself but didn't have the opportunity to do that. Before long, he was lying in Gilbert's hold, his back pressed against the white haired nation's chest, while Ludwig was making himself comfortable between his legs with the tube of transparent liquid already uncapped in his hand.

He never felt so vulnerable and exposed in his life.

He knew it was all right. That it was necessary and normal, and he shouldn't feel embarrassed in front of his lovers but he couldn't help it.

All of this was scary and new.

The room suddenly seemed too big and alien. As if everything was staring and judging, eyes peeking through the dark window and ajar door. The single reading lamp was too bright. The scent of the lube was sickening and the rustling of the sheets threatened with imminent pain. Hands that were meant to calm and reassure were constricting and tying down.

Italy panicked.

The confidence that pushed him so far disappeared somewhere, leaving only the pathetic cry-baby behind.

He wanted to run.

Like so many times in his life, the urge was strong. But somehow he remained rooted to his place. If it was sheer willpower, or the fact that Gilbert was slowly massaging and scratching his scalp, fingers gliding through auburn hair easily, or perhaps Germany's lips leaving a wet trail on his abdomen, he couldn't decide. Probably, all of it together.

It was… nice.

Not too demanding, not too risqué. And gradually, he got used to the situation. And the more relaxed he became, the more bold his lovers' actions turned as well.

Gilbert's hand travelled lower, caressing shoulders, sides and tweaking at the nipples mercilessly. Italy moaned, only to be silenced by the man's tongue invading his open mouth. The kiss was a bit off with Gilbert leaning over him from behind his back, but it was fiery nevertheless, feeding his reawakening erection.

Meanwhile Ludwig skimmed his lube covered fingers up a smooth inner thigh circling at the smaller nation's entrance.

Italy tensed up.

Here came the difficult part.

His injured hands fisted into the sheets underneath, ready for the unavoidable pain.

But he barely noticed the first slick finger sliding in, as Germany's searing lips closed around his member.

First was the unbelievable heat. Then came the blinding light, and Italy screamed, the noise muffled by the white haired nation's mouth.

The soft and wet tightness that surrounded him was amazing, and when Ludwig bobbed his head all the blood rushed to his groin leaving him lightheaded. He was high on lust, his body sweltering and oversensitive.

Meanwhile, the single digit glided in and out of his body in a deliberately slow fashion. It felt strange, but it didn't hurt. Italy couldn't quite decide if he liked it or not. But when the second finger invaded as well, it was definitely unpleasant.

The lube squelched as the scissoring motion stretched him as much as it was possible, leaving a burning sensation behind. Pain shot through his spine momentarily while the fingers wriggled inside as if searching for something, but when they finally found what they were looking for the world shattered completely.

His back arched suddenly, almost braking his spine in half. He wanted to scream again as pleasure coursed through his system like molten lava but the air stuck in his chest, and no sound could escape his open lips. All of his nerve endings were on fire pulsating with desire as Ludwig's fingers danced within him brushing that spot again and again and again.

He was moaning and panting shamelessly. His head lolled from side to side prompting the white haired man above him to hold him down, and attack his neck instead. Italy's hands tangled into snowy locks and pulled when Gilbert bit down in the same place he did before, leaving an angry purple bruise.

He was losing his mind. The third finger didn't even register on his radar and the fourth only left him craving more as he pushed back against the digits, with something dangerously coiling in his belly.

He was close.

Too close.

And his partners had to notice that as well because the fingers disappeared without any warning, leaving him empty and unsatisfied.

A loud whine broke the temporary silence of the room, and Gilbert chuckled as he pulled the smaller nation into a sitting position, and turned him towards Ludwig. They scooted closer, and Germany drew both of them into his strong arms.

Yet again, he was squeezed between the two bigger bodies, and yet again, he didn't mind it at all.

But he couldn't enjoy the moment fully. It wasn't quite right.

He didn't want to face away from Gilbert, and he hated that his greediness seemed to be just insatiable. But it didn't seem fair. He loved Gilbert just as much as he loved Ludwig and he wanted to share in this moment equally.

Italy tilted his head back, looking at the man sitting behind him curiously for a moment. He was messing around with the lube, coating himself and his brother at same time, both of their expressions impatient and ecstatic.

Italy was needy as well, but this was important, too.

Would Gilbert understand?

Would Ludwig understand it?

It was easier for him if he didn't have to choose, but he wanted the men to know how he felt. Gilbert had been through a lot, and despite what the world thought of him, what Italy wrongly assumed as well, he was not unbreakable. He could be fragile, just like anyone else.

"I don't want to face away from you," Italy said suddenly.

Gilbert looked up, his lustful eyes barely focusing on the smaller nation.

"Would you rather turn this way?" he asked too preoccupied with his current task.

The brunette shook his head.

"I want to be able to see you both."

The man froze.

Understanding flashed up in his mind like a lightbulb, his lustful eyes clearing and softening at the considerate notion. He sighed as he leaned closer to Italy, touching their foreheads together. Discarding the tube his messy hands circled Italy's shoulders, who didn't mind the slick substance at all.

Rather, the Mediterranean nation tried to peek through the white bangs that covered the other's face, but unfortunately the wine-red eyes were shut.

"Thank you." Gilbert broke the silence unexpectedly.

His voice was barely audible, barely a whisper. He really did look frail at that moment, and Italy's heart constricted with an undefined feeling of love, compassion, worry and protectiveness mixing together. "But it's fine this way," the man continued. "You've been in love with West for centuries. Besides, I never even imagined that I would be allowed to share a moment like this with the two of you. I never imagined I would still _be_ at this point…"

His words faded into nothingness, and all Italy could do was to hug him back as strongly and reassuringly as his little form allowed.

"I love you," he murmured as he pressed his lips against Gilbert's in a chaste kiss pouring all of his feelings into this simple gesture.

The man smiled, reciprocating the kiss as well.

"I know you do. It's 'cos I'm awesome."

He didn't sound half as smug and confident as he wanted to, but it was still okay. It was still typically Gilbert. That was his way of saying that everything was all right, and Italy grinned back at him, finally feeling more at ease.

But Gilbert still wasn't free from the clutches of his lovers as suddenly Ludwig took over the smaller nation's place, drawing his older brother closer, his hand sneaking lovingly onto the other's cheek. Plump lips sealed over thin pale ones, and the man moaned when Germany's tongue slipped inside his mouth worshipping every crevice, nook and cranny.

It was slow and languid. The way the blonde's hands were holding the older nation as if he was the most precious treasure in the whole world, the way he was pulling him closer trying to mould their figures into one, the look full of adoration that shone in crystal blue eyes reminded Italy of that one time in Berlin.

And when Ludwig pulled away just long enough to whisper something in German, he didn't had to be a genius to understand it. Even without his broken knowledge of the language, Italy knew what they were saying.

" _Ich liebe dich. I love you. Always."_

And the answer just as simple.

" _Ich auch. Me too."_

Italy didn't want to say that he was left out, because honestly, he wasn't. But when Ludwig leaned back claiming his brother's lips again, he couldn't supress a twinge of jealousy. The two of them had an already established relationship. They were lovers for longer than a century. He, on the other hand, was a newcomer. And however one looked at it, Italy was at a disadvantage.

But it was fine this way.

They were nations, they lived long. And despite not being immortal – a fact that was painfully proved by Gilbert nearly fading away – they had time. Italy was hopeful that one day he will be just as close to them as they were to each other.

The future was bright and exciting, and he forbade himself feeling like an outsider. He was part of their lives, one way or another, and he was happy.

And when the brothers suddenly pulled him in, to share in another messy three-way kiss he realized just how deeply and actively he belong to them already.

There was no holding back. Hands roamed as tongues and lips and teeth battled, lavishing each other with as much attention as it was possible, kindling the fire within them that never fully died down. And soon, all of them were hovering on the edge with an unquenchable thirst gnawing at their very being, hypersensitive from carnal desire and need.

Italy let out a wanton moan as fingers wrapped around his dripping member lasciviously pumping a couple of times. Then strong hands guided his hips, positioning him above the Germanic nations' joint erections glistening with lube and pre-cum in the semidarkness of the room.

There was no going back anymore.

His mind panicked for a moment again fearing the unavoidable pain, but the calming presence of his partners helped him to get over this fleeting weakness.

He took a deep breath and let his hips descend accepting his two lovers into his body completely.

It hurt.

He was being stretched beyond his limits, and he sobbed as he dug his nails into Ludwig's shoulders leaving crescent moon shaped indentations on blushing skin. His chest constricted from pain as well, making it difficult to breath, and his frame shook and shivered as a thin sheen of sweat covered his straining muscles.

It hurt.

The only reason he didn't pull away and didn't collapse either, was because a pair of white arms was circling his abdomen and chest, holding him in place securely, while another pair was soothingly caressing his sides, occasionally gliding through silky auburn tresses.

He heard them purr sweet nothings to his ear as well; Ludwig urging him to breathe slowly, and Gilbert praising him, telling him how amazing, how _awesome_ he was.

And despite this painful situation and against his better judgement he chuckled at the white haired nation's comment, – because Gilbert rarely called anyone other than himself awesome, if he did at all. However, the sound escaping his lips mixed with a sob as stinging ache shot up his spine at the smallest of movements.

The pain was only very slowly subsiding.

Italy couldn't have been more grateful for his lovers' patience who let him adjust peacefully to the initial intrusion and their combined impressive size.

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly willing his tense muscles to relax.

He was lucky that being a nation meant that his body was sturdier, and accustomed to all sort of changes way easier than a human's. And the slow, massaging motion of warm fingers on his oversensitive figure made the process that much faster as well. And finally he was able to calm himself enough to think clearly and try to move.

He rolled his hips experimentally, and the tentative motion was like a curse, setting his core on fire.

It was hell and heaven at the same time. It felt like the blazing and sizzling furnace of the sulfuric underworld ignited by the seraphim themselves was burning inside him. It was sinfully divine. The pain was still there, but it mixed with pleasure transcending all rationality.

And he was in charge.

Ludwig and Gilbert whimpered and trembled as he repeated the movement again and again and again, each time more enthusiastically than before. Encouraged by that, the Germanic nations' hands circled his form helping him raise his hips, guiding and angling his lithe frame in search for that one spot that would drive him crazy.

Lips and teeth attacked again. Fingers scratched and tweaked and interlaced around his weeping erection, squeezing and tugging and pumping _just right_ in the rhythm of their joint thrusts.

The air grew denser in the room, perfumed by the small nation's lewd moans mixed with his lovers' lustful ones and the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin.

He didn't care. His body moved on its own, thrilling his senses as he explored and claimed as well, leaving possessive bite marks on Ludwig's slick skin.

The feeling was intoxicating, and he trailed his way up to the blonde's luscious lips sucking them between his in a ravenous kiss. Then Italy reached behind as well, weaving his arm around Gilbert's neck and pulling him forward for an awkward, lopsided kiss.

He arched his back to have a better reach, and the new angle made his body sing as his prostate was hit dead on.

 _There!_

The world was blinding for a moment, and his mouth opened for a silent scream. His head dropped onto a white shoulder, auburn hair spilling everywhere as pleasure raked his frame. Fingers dug into his partners' hard flesh as they mercilessly focused on that one spot.

He was losing his sanity.

Ludwig bit at the healthy olive skin stretched out on Italy's neck, which taunted him like a sacrificial offering to some kind of bloodthirsty god. Urgency dripped from all of his movements, and Gilbert was devouring his smaller lover's angry red lips, his hold getting tighter as he was reaching his completion as well.

Heat was pooling in Italy's belly, too. He wasn't going to last long like that.

His thrusts became more erratic, he could barely keep up with Ludwig and Gilbert anymore. He prayed, desperately trying to hold out till the two of them reached their end, but when Germany shifted, -reaching inside him deeper than ever before - to join them in another three-way kiss, Italy was gone.

His back arched almost painfully and he came hard, covering his lover's hands with his thick seed.

Fireworks exploded in front of his eyes, dazzling him with vibrant colours he hasn't seen in ages. From all shades of reds, blues and greens to different purples and yellows. Magenta sparks were followed by violet and plum and lilac then suddenly it all turned into bright vermillion and scarlet and ruby. Lime and fern green mixed with dandelion, honey and Tuscan sun yellow, and everything bathed in golden and silver light.

When the world slowly started to fade into darkness his body still convulsed with spasms, muscles tightening and relaxing, catching the Germanic nations in a delightfully tight prison. He could feel his lovers' members pulsating inside him as they came as well, even through the heady, balsamic afterglow of his own orgasm.

They trembled, then hot liquid filled him and dripped down his thighs. He vaguely felt hands skim across his scorching skin and his name being uttered breathily, but he couldn't tell who it was anymore.

His consciousness sunk into a blissful void.

oOo

Italy was only out for a couple of moments, but by the time he came around he was lying in the bed, cosily nestled between Ludwig and Gilbert.

His body was pleasantly aching and his mind was covered by a mellow, pillow-like fog. Thinking was difficult and his heavy eyelids refused to open, but he was more than aware of his surroundings.

Warm and familiar voices were quietly talking above his head in crackling, serious German and despite that he couldn't understand the meaning of the words, he still knew that everything was okay. There was no need to worry.

It wasn't a dream.

"Feliciano?"

His heart skipped a beat.

Germany's baritone that he craved with every fibre of his being was laced with something unusual, and he was surprised to see a pair of sparkling blue and deep wine-red eyes looking at him equally curiously.

They were vibrant. Their skin almost glowed in the semi-darkness of the room, and actually the whole room itself bathed in colours Italy never noticed before.

His vision was finally back to the way it was a long time ago.

But his face heated up suddenly, mortified at the realization, and understanding the strange looks: he really has blacked out. From pleasure, no less.

His voice shook a bit when he asked, knowing the answer anyway, "I passed out, haven't I?"

God, it was so embarrassing, and he hid his face behind the messy and destroyed bandages that covered his hands. Gilbert cackled at that, his characteristic laugh filling the room with joy, as he peeled away Italy's fingers gently to press a quick kiss to his lips.

"It's because I was awesome!" he cooed arrogantly.

Ludwig whacked him on the head more as a playful warning than a punishment and Gilbert retaliated by sticking out his tongue.

"Must you be such a child?" Annoyance marred at his handsome features, but it was obvious that he wasn't actually angry at all. Otherwise the white haired nation would be already listening to a long and boringly detailed lecture on etiquette and proper behaviour and... "Are you okay?" The blonde head turned towards Italy instead.

The small nation smiled up at the blonde, his honey-gold eyes shining like gems from under his dark lashes.

To say that he was _okay_ was an understatement. He has never been so happy in his life! He was in love, and he was loved in return. Both Ludwig and Gilbert were part of his life, and he belonged to them. No matter what came after this, no matter that the life of a nation was a chaotic ride through the tempest of history, no matter politics and trade and whatever else fate would throw at them, because there was no force on Earth that could change his feelings. So by any definition, yes, he was okay.

"Never been better."

Germany's concerned expression softened instantly and he leaned over to peck his Mediterranean lover on the lips as well.

"Good," he said warmly. "Let's go then."

Italy cocked his head to the side questioningly. "Go where?"

The bed dipped and creaked as the two taller nations got up and Italy's heart skipped a beat. Were they leaving?

Ludwig was checking the clothes, folding those which were not his and clearly looking for his underwear, which was a bad sign. But Gilbert seemed rather comfortable walking around in his full naked glory.

That was rather reassuring.

And when the lost piece of clothing was finally found and snuggly sitting on the blonde's hips, Ludwig extended his hand invitingly.

"What do you mean where?" he asked as Italy's fingers interlocked with his and he pulled. The smaller man winced, but soon found himself sitting on the edge of the bed loosely covered by the soft duvet.

"Shower, food, sleep." Gilbert explained coming up to them as well. "And I have to change your bandages, too." he said, looking at the dressing rather disgusted.

Italy's hands twitched, "Oh." That made sense. Actually, a shower would be nice, and he sure could eat as well. "And then?"

"Then?" A blonde eyebrow lifted surprised.

The older nation swallowed, unsure whether to let his insecurities be known or not. He didn't have a good reason to feel that way, but there was this nagging, anxious feeling deep in his stomach, coiling in unrest at the uncertainty of the future. He just didn't want this moment to end.

"Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow we're going to spend the whole day in bed," Gilbert chimed in, winking at the older man seductively.

Italy shivered at the prospect, anticipation coiling in the pit of his stomach almost immediately. He was still extremely sore, but nations healed fast, and he was sure that his lovers would make the experience unforgettable anyway.

Ludwig sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose as if trying to get rid of an impending headache.

"Right, the whole day. As if anyone could do that," he grumbled. But then suddenly he went really quiet, seemingly re-evaluating the possibility of spending a whole day in bed and everything it entailed. His face turned violent red, and he did a motion with his hand which reminded Italy of trying to shoo away a fly. Finally, he got his thoughts in check again and cleared his throat. "But after that we have to go back to Berlin."

Italy flinched.

He wanted to jump up, but his body protested against every move, and he was forced to remain still in the bed. His heart, beating to an anxious staccato rhythm painfully, refused to settle. Italy gulped back the words of protest; he was being selfish.

Gilbert and Ludwig were part of his life now, but they had their own responsibilities. Germany's presence was needed at his place. His people needed him. His boss needed him, too. And Gilbert who was still strongly connected to Germany, despite not being officially a nation anymore, would go with him to help out and in general to support his brother.

That was expected. Natural.

And as much as Italy wanted to go with them, he had his own responsibilities, too. It's not like he didn't expect them to leave at all, but -

Ah, no, he actually did. He naively thought that his happily ever after started here. That they would never part again. Of course, it was unreasonable, he knew that. But still, somewhere deep he hoped that they at least would spend a bit more time together. And maybe later he could go and visit them, if they wanted to, of course.

The smaller nation squeezed his eyes shut, holding back the needless tears from spilling. He was being foolish. There was no reason to cry. He was just being spoiled.

But Germany smiled at him reassuringly, kneeling down next to his sitting form and taking his small hands into his big ones, pressing them to his lips lovingly.

"Don't be sad," he started gently." I already lost you once amongst all my memories, I'm not going to let that happen again. Even if we have to part for short periods of time, I will always come back to you. No, actually…" he corrected himself glancing at Gilbert from the corner of his eye. "Both of us will come back. _Home._ To you."

Gilbert, who so far remained silent, now sat down next to him, too, white fingers timidly interlacing with theirs. The touch, unexpectedly soft from the white haired nation, felt featherlike against Italy's abused and injured hands. And as the smaller man looked up only to find an uncertainly glimmering wine-red gaze boring into his, he realised that despite all the bravado Gilbert was still fragile.

The urgency to draw him closer, reassure that everything would be fine was crippling, even though it was him who wanted to be reassured the most. But the small fingers clasped firmly around the other's lanky ones anyway, in a gesture that spoke more than thousand words could ever have. A faint smile broke out on thin lips as Italy looked at the man again.

"Live with us," came the quiet plea.

Softly spoken and barely audible, the Mediterranean nation wasn't even sure if he heard it correctly. Did Gilbert just… Did he-?

"I know duty demands that we stay each in our respective homes," the man continued suddenly, just as quietly and timidly as before. "But if you ever want to come… If you have time or just feel like it…, And if you want… We could also…Come…. Sometimes-…"

He went quiet, seemingly afraid to finish the request, but Italy understood the meaning of it anyway. His heart skipped a beat, throat closing in fear and excitement, making it extremely difficult to speak. He looked at Ludwig, who was still kneeling next to him, holding one of his hands in a strong grasp. Liquid pools of diamond and sapphire sparkled up at him expectantly. The question came from both of them.

Italy let out a shaky breath. It was all he ever wanted, yet he hesitated for a reason he couldn't quite comprehend himself.

"You say that as if you expect me to reject you…" he started, voice barely above a whisper. "Why are you afraid?"

Gilbert's lips quivered for a moment, showing vulnerability that was too much out of palace. But he collected himself quickly, taking a big gulp of air, and the next time he looked up the Tuscan-wine eyes reflected determination and devotion shimmering like jewels in the dim light of the murky room. "Because, I'm asking you to share your life with us. For better or worse, through thick and thin, till death do as apart…"

There was no hesitation or uncertainty in his voice this time. And the request was simple, too. Despite how it sounded, not quite a proposal, not for marriage, and certainly not in human terms, but it was something akin to that.

 _Stay with us forever._

A simple request. Not as a nation, but as an individual. Stay with them. Stay with them for…

"Nations live long, and it's a big commitment," Germany started suddenly, as if reading his thoughts. "And I know it's all happening really fast but-"

Italy never let him finish. There was no need for the blonde to try to convince him. Italy was hesitating for no good reason. Although, he refused ones, but this time… It was different. Genuine. And it came from both of them.

And he chided himself internally, because really, he was just being a cry-baby at this point, as tears gathered in his eyes. But beyond them there was a huge smile holding the promise of a future spent together.

Italy threw himself at his lovers, circling his weak arms around their necks, pulling them as close as possible, moulding their figures into one. Unable to speak, and silently choking on sobs, he tried to convey just how much did this meant to him.

They hugged back. Strongly. Protectively. Understanding even without words.

Although they slipped apart so many times during the long years they lived, like the sunlight flickering through the green leaves on a hot summer day, they found each other time and time again.

Italy's tomorrows were boundless. And the world was a bright place once more.

 **~Fin~**

 **Historical Notes:**

Nuremberg (or Nurnberg) trials: were a series of military tribunals, held by the Allied forces after World War II, which were most notable for the prosecution of prominent members of the political, military, judicial and economic leadership of Nazi Germany who planned, carried out, or otherwise participated in the Holocaust and other war crimes. The trials were held in the city of Nuremberg, Germany, and their decisions marked a turning point between classical international law and contemporary international law. The Palace of Justice (the place where the trials were held) was spacious and largely undamaged (one of the few that had remained largely intact despite extensive Allied bombing of Germany). The already large courtroom was reasonably easily expanded by the removal of the wall at the end opposite the bench, thereby incorporating the adjoining room. A large prison was also part of the complex. _(Wiki)_

The Hungarian blood oath: according to tradition, a pact among the leaders of the seven Hungarian tribes, traditionally held to be the first, unwritten constitution of the Hungarian nation. Its story, along with the terms agreed upon in it, is mostly known from the somewhat unreliable Gesta Hungarorum. The oath was sealed by the seven leaders – Álmos, Előd, Ond, Kond, Tas, Huba and Töhötöm – by cutting their arms and letting their blood into a chalice. This practice is likely to have been used traditionally to seal exceptionally strong oaths, and there must have been several similar oaths, but the phrase "blood oath" usually refers to the one by the seven leaders. _(Wiki)_

Berlin Wall: was a barrier that divided Berlin from 1961 to 1989. Constructed by the German Democratic Republic (GDR, East Germany), starting on 13 August 1961, the Wall completely cut off (by land) West Berlin from surrounding East Germany and from East Berlin until government officials opened it in November 1989. Its demolition officially began on 13 June 1990 and was completed in 1992. _(Wiki)_

Fun fact – Venice was the headquarters of the Teutonic Order between 1291 and 1309.

All the historical data is gathered mainly from the Wikipedia. Might not be the most reliable of source, but this is just a fanfiction. Thanks for reading through all of this!


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